Up a Tree
by Bardock Lives
Summary: What's a poor Spy to do when he gets stranded up a tree with an enemy Sniper? Socialize, of course.
1. Part 1

(This is what I've been working on for the past four-ish months. This is part one of five, and currently the tiniest of the bunch.)

It was time to go hunting again, as the Sniper did every Saturday. True, the base was readily supplied with food, but people like Sniper, Heavy, and Soldier all regularly went out hunting- whether to catch food for the sake of hunting or to test their battle prowess. The latter applying to the Soldier and the former to Sniper- and both to the Heavy. The Engineer dismissed hunting as "wasteful" and most of the other mercs were either too lazy or didn't see the appeal.

The Sniper ventured out of the spawn room doors, which slid open and shut smoothly as he passed. He headed down the dirt road, unwrapped the loose chain around the large gates and tossed aside both it and the broken lock that had never worked, and headed into the bountiful pine forest that bordered Sawmill.

The sky was perpetually gloomy, only a few drops of rain falling now, but before it'd gotten to severe lightning storms that had knocked out the base's power for a day or two. The air smelled of rain, a sort of scent that was impossible to describe properly. The ground was slightly damp, but didn't cling to the Australian's boots.

The Sniper was by his lonesome, but he preferred it that way. He carefully avoided the meadow that he'd learned was a wolf pack's territory, and headed for a little stream bordered by salted rocks. Deer and other animals were fond of licking up salt, and due to the abundant foliage and water, this made it an excellent place to pick off unwary deer and smaller mammals. The Sniper ascended a tree, and not long afterwards, there was a quieted sound of something breaking. A muffled snap, like a tree branch breaking, perhaps, and a loud, hastily stifled groan of pain.

Well, so much for the peace and the quiet.

"Scout, you chook, I swear, if you've come a gutser into another one of my licks, I swear I'm gonna let the Pyro hack both of your legs off," Sniper grumbled as he leaned down out over his branch, stretched out along his stomach to see who had disrupted his work. "You're not a bloody stag, you know… you can't be out here, zipping around, stirring up the local— "

He stopped when he realized it wasn't Scout he was looking at.

Well, to be fair, at first it was the Scout he was looking at- The runner was kneeling, cradling his arm, then looked up at the Aussie. His face flickered with fear for a moment, then abruptly wavered and blinked into nothing as his entire body went invisible.

Had it been his team's Spy, there would have been a faint outline; a hint or tinge of a RED Spy, as though reality was bending and warping around him. But there was nothing; except the sound of slow, although almost silent, footsteps.

"…Spook?"

Sniper's brow knit together in a look of annoyance and confusion - confusion because… well… what the bloody hell? Why would either of those suit-wearing ratbags be doing out here, let alone the Blu Spy? Had he been trying to sneak up on him? Off-hours kills were cowardly enough, but they were also supposed to be banned under the Head's law of punishment. Not even Spy would try it, not if he wanted to keep his job, among other things.

So what had he been doing out here?

It was probably a trap, but Sniper couldn't leave well enough alone, and he quickly climbed down from his secured position. His rifle wouldn't do much good from the tree-line, not when the foliage was as thick as this. No, he'd rely on his tracking skills instead; listening carefully, looking for any signs of the invisible man as he passed through the underbrush… speaking of which, the trail was easy enough to pick up, slight indention of the soles from expensive shoes left behind in the soft, muddy peat.

"A'roight, spook, you wanted my attention… now you've got it," he muttered softly as he followed the tracks.

Spy was in agony. He'd dealt with broken bones before and this wasn't one of the worst breaks he'd ever received, but he had to keep moving to get out of the bushman's sights. He hadn't intentionally tried to fall out of a goddamn tree, it just happened. His gloves didn't have a good grip and he wasn't experienced enough to simply sit in a tree for several hours at a time. Patience was part of his job, but patience in _trees _was a lot different.

And to top it all off, the bushman was armed to the teeth, whereas he was unarmed with the exception of his invisi-watch and disguise kit, which one could hardly even qualify as weapons. He attempted to ignore a surge of agony and held down a scream, muffling it to nothing more than a snarl between clenched teeth. The Sniper was an experienced tracker, and there was no doubt in Spy's mind if he stopped for a single second to rest he'd be found.

_It's a deadly game of hide and go seek_, Spy thought humorlessly. _Except I can't find a hiding spot._

Even with the way the tracks wandered here and there, the Spy was making it far too easy to track him, which only strengthened the thought in Sniper's mind: this was a trap.

But what kind of trap could it be? What was he trying to do? Lead him into an ambush? A snare? A pit? No… he couldn't see the Spy digging a pit… maybe the Soldier. That would be just about right if it was an ambush.

Sniper slowed for a moment, hunkering down in the underbrush. His hat and vest blended well with the textured pine bark. Maybe it wasn't safe to hunt in an outfit that blended just as well as the coats of the deer he liked to bag, especially considering the number of yobbos out here with such free range with their weapons, but he could never be convinced to wear one of Truckie's "safety vests". If he got shot, then he'd respawn, and the only real loss would be the time wasted having to trek back out for his ammo.

He scanned the surrounding growth, looking for any sign of hiding Blus. Spy didn't seem like the sort to recruit his teammates to help with one of his tricky plans, but if the man was doing something as cowardly as trying to attack during a cease fire, then maybe he'd be willing to work in tangent with another to make whatever devious plan he had in mind happen.

Spy exhaled sharply, swiveling his head back. The Sniper was still farther back, a good fifteen or so feet. Alright, alright, what was the plan?

He glanced down at the invisi-watch. Not much time left until it drained and the bushman would be able to see him. He groaned to himself, pained and frustrated, and decided that the best thing he could do was get off the ground. Which meant, unfortunately, he would have to climb a tree; the thing that had gotten him injured and in this situation in the first place. He stripped off one of his gloves and tossed it to the side. Inwardly he groaned at leaving it behind, but he had more exactly like it. He didn't even attempt to get the glove on his injured arm off; too painful, too time consuming.

Spotting no hint of an ambush, Sniper quietly moved around the far side of the trunk he was hiding against, and took up the trail once more.

At the end of the path, he found a glove, tossed aside. The warm leather, dyed blue to match the rest of the sneak's outfit, was smooth between the pads of his fingers. A fabric with no texture to let a man grip was useless beyond all measures; Sniper could only imagine the Spy wore them to make himself feel better than the rest of them, just like his prissy tailored suits, it was all just dress up.

"Poofter," he muttered, pocketing the glove. Now, why would the man have abandoned it? Especially just one glove? Unless…

Sniper looked around, scanning the immediate area. No wolves; they were close to the territory, but there wasn't any signs of a recent run-through. He would have heard it if the man had been attacked. Which meant…

He stepped away from the base of the tree and craned his head back, looking up.

Spy crouched there, eyes flashing. If one had to describe him, he looked like a cornered, wounded animal. His jacket and pants were scratched and dirtied. One arm, presumably the gloveless one, was curled around the tree, while the other was badly broken. It wouldn't have surprised anyone to see bone jutting out of it. He was panting slightly, taking breaths in quick, short spurts, and while his eyes were ferocious they were also glazed over in pain. Every muscle was rigid.

There wasn't any fear on his face, more like uncertainty. Wary of of the Sniper and what he could, and would, do.

"Bushman," He said, voice tight with pain. He inclined his head slightly.

Sniper couldn't help himself; the sight alone was too much.

"…g'day," he chuckled. "First I've ever seen a show pony up these trees. You lost, mate?"

He tilted his head to one side, then the next, trying to get a good look at what the situation was. If Spy was trying to hide, he was doing a bloody bad job at it. The way he held his body, especially his arm, spoke volumes about the considerable amount of pain the man was in. Sniper wasn't sure he had ever seen a Spy in such a disarray.

"You stuck, there, spook?"

Spy considered keeping his mouth shut. The less he said the less the bushman would have to taunt him with. He was too far out of his element and in too much pain to craft any fine, sarcastic responses. He shifted himself a little, and realized just how little he was disguising his pain. Rule one of being prey- and in his case, that's what he was- was never show weakness.

Spy relaxed somewhat, abandoning the furious, defensive look he'd been giving. "You can't be lost in a forest," He said, voice hardly above a mutter. "Being lost implies there was someplace to go in the first place."

He would never, _never _admit this to anyone, but yes. He may have been a little stuck. Climbing up a tree with a broken arm was significantly easier than the opposite, plus, he'd never actually climbed down a tree before without breaking something. He was never a tree-climber or forest dweller; tree-based activities never seemed to click with him. And the idea of even attempting to venture down was terrifying, almost sickening. He was very, very careful not to let any of this show in any expression.

"I said— "

Sniper shifted his shouldered rifle, unslinging it from its holstered position.

"—are you stuck? Because I'd be more than happy to, uh, 'help' ya down." He gave the trapped man a toothy grin, sliding two fingers over the barrel of his gun. "You picked a pretty poor place for a smoko, mate… if yer looking for a bit of scenery to go along with yer cig, you oughta go up higher."

A thought occurred to him; if the Spy wasn't out here, laying a trap, then maybe he was like Truckie, and had only set his sights on spoiling the afternoon's hunt.

"You a greenie, Spook? Out here to keep good men from doing good work? That why yer out here, crashing around, climbing trees?"

Spy gave a short bark of laughter. "Trust me, bushman, being in this situation was the _last _thing I'd intended to happen today. I don't give a damn about the animals you hunt. You could burn down the whole forest and I wouldn't be able to care less."

There was a tiny, almost impossible to see shift of his face at the suggestion to move higher. Just quick, small twitch of the lips, unconsciously done. "I am not stuck, bushman, and your help is something I will never need. I'm not here to kill you or even disrupt you." He considered telling the Sniper that he was unarmed, then decided against it.

"Well, you already 'disrupted' me, ya shonky blue, so too late for that. Now, normally, I'd mind my own bizzo, but seein' as I'm feelin' as mean as cat piss, I'm thinking of makin' camp right here."

Sniper was certain he had seen something in the Spy's face, a little tick of discomfort that had nothing to do with his busted arm. He decided to put it to the test.

"Shift yer strides up another branch an' get out of the way," he ordered, strapping his rifle back in place before he stepped up to the base of the tree and started to climb. There was nowhere else for the other man to go now but up.

Spy could feel a cold chill run down his back, as though someone had stuffed the back of his jacket with snow. It had nothing to do with the bushman climbing up, and for a second he even wondered if it would be so bad to let the Sniper kill him. He attempted to snap himself out of these thoughts, but he hesitated for several crucial moments; and by the look on his face it was not because of his arm.

Even if he wasn't a tree-climber and had a broken arm, Spy still noticed branches that would hold his weight and ascended, heaving himself skyward. It was awkward to watch, especially since he tucked his wounded arm against his chest, but he made it up a few branches to one of the sturdiest looking limbs on the tree.

Oh, so he had been right… the Spy wasn't willing to concede to his discomfort yet, but the man clearly loathed being where he was. He had to wonder - was it the pain of his arm? The height? The sway of the tree in the breeze? Or just the fact that he was dirtying up his pretty clothes?

As many questions as he wanted to ask, none stood out more than one very simple one: why had the man allowed himself to be corralled up the tree in the first place? The revolver - a gun as prissy as the man himself, in Sniper's opinion - wasn't exactly unknown between them and, if the Spy was unarmed, then Sniper was a vejjo. So why hadn't he drawn his weapon yet?

Well, he wasn't sure why, but he wasn't about to stop and chat either. He was curious to see just how far he could push the man - if nothing else, he'd learn something new about the other's limits and maybe figure out which element it was that made the muscle in the man's cheek twitch uncomfortably.

Sniper didn't slow down; he kept going, climbing higher as he came after the Blu Spy.

"Well? Budge up, figjam. Don't stop there," he taunted, reaching up to give the sole of the other's shoe a swat. "Keep climbing."

The Sniper couldn't see much of his face beneath the mask, but even with the very little available he could tell the Spy had gone pale. He gave a little snarl down at the Australian and hesitated again for several more moments. His Adam's apple dipped as he swallowed, and he began climbing again.

He grasped the tree limbs so tightly the knuckles of his good hand were almost white. Spy hated, hated, _hated _the sickened, queasy feeling building in his stomach and cringed inwardly at the thought of going higher. But the Australian showed no signs of stopping in his ascent of the tree, forcing the Frenchman up higher and higher.

Spy'd gone well past his comfort zone at this point and he had to stop to steady himself. Naturally, he picked that moment to look down and immediately regretted it more than anything he'd done in his entire life. His stomach gave a lurch as though it was literally trying to jump out of his ribcage and Spy gave a quiet, hastily stifled gasp.

That was it, he couldn't go any higher, he _couldn't, _he'd rather Sniper killed him. He hung back, slowing in his climbing and covering his unwillingness to move by gently examining his broken arm.

They didn't have pine trees back in the Lucky Country, but his first trip out into these woods had proven to Sniper that they were far, far easier to climb than what he was used to. Sniper practically swarmed up the tree, scaling the branches easily as if they were rungs on a ladder, taking to the textured bark like a koala in a gum tree.

"S'matter, mate?" He taunted with a grin when the Spy finally stopped and perched comfortably on a branch of his own, opposite to the pained man. "Yer arm bothering you? You move fast for a fruit loop with one arm out of commission - then again, I suppose you must be used to it, being a snake and all."

He leaned back, adjusting his hat as a cooling gust swayed the tree.

"Aw, crikey… just look at that view! Hard to imagine Teufort being anything more than the peaceful, slumbering shelia she appears as now, hey? Well, go on, then, spook… don't be rude. Have a gander!"

Sniper threw an arm out wide, gesturing to all the open space around them, and laughed.

"Shut up," Spy's voice was firm, but breathless. He had his eyes closed tightly. "If you don't shut up right now I am going to stab you in the eye and push you out of this tree." The Spy didn't seem to mind the tree swaying all that much- he kept his balance well enough, and didn't make a remark on it.

His face had gone from pale to slightly green, almost nauseated. "When you respawn, bushman, I am going to head over to your base and stab you until I grow old and die." He promised, but his voice was faint at best. The threat was real, but it was delivered so weakly it was hard to take it seriously.

Spy dared to open his eyes, firmly not looking down, and felt his stomach flip again. He ignored it and instead chose to look up. The vast blue was so distant it didn't matter how high he was off the ground, it looked the same. It brought little comfort.

"You dizzy, spook?" Sniper asked, all humor gone from his voice as he watched the man tip his head back. He reached around the core of the tree, fastening a fist tight to the front of the other's suit to steady him. "Don't do that if yer dizzy; you'll fall faster than a roo on a roof, an' that's good oil. Not messing with ya on that, mate."

Spy's gaze flickered to the Sniper, his face twisting into scorn. He opened his mouth as if to say something scathing, then closed it. "I hate this," He muttered instead. "I hate you. But thanks."

Despite his best efforts, Sniper couldn't help but feel the corner of his mouth lift.

"I hate you too," he replied in what could almost be a fond tone. Letting go of the man's suit, he gestured for Spy to move back on his branch, and shifted around to climb around closer. "Scootch on back an' I'll take a squizz at yer arm."

"No you will not!" Spy's voice was surprisingly sharp. "We're still enemies, bushman, did you really forget?"

There was no way in hell Spy was going to move anywhere but down until he was out of this tree. He wanted to bluff and say that if the Sniper came any closer he'd find a knife in his neck. But he still didn't have a knife. Or a revolver.

Spy shot him a glare, the look suggesting he better stay exactly where he was or he was going to end up falling out of the tree.

But the fiery threat didn't deter him in the slightest. In fact, Spy's words only seemed to amuse him even more.

"You gonna climb down one-handed, then? That's something I wouldn't mind seeing… 'cept the Head would blame me when you finally took a spill. Ever die from a broken neck yet, Spook? If it ain't done right, it takes a while to die. A very long, very agonizing while."

He looked back out across the tree tops, however; content to let Spy be for a moment. This wasn't the worst place to hunt from, actually… he'd rather be in the midst of a feeding ring or a grazing meadow, but from this height, he had a pretty decent chance.

Shifting comfortably on his branch, Sniper wrapped one lanky leg around the core, and shrugged his rifle free. Might as well see if he could sight anything since he was up here…

Spy started mumbling a long string of words in French, occasionally saying something like "bushman" or "Australian" within it. Once he was satisfied with what he'd said, he figured it easier to get down just by killing himself. But he _still _had no weapon.

He tried to figure out a way to get down without killing himself- Sniper was right, he broke his arm just by crouching on a tree, how was he going to get down one-handed?

"Sniper," He said, voice patient, "Once you are done slaughtering deer, I would appreciate you killing me. I would do it myself, but I don't have anything to do it with."

Although he didn't look up from his scope, Sniper's thoughts were far from focused on the land spread out beneath them.

"…what are you doin' wandering around out here unarmed, Spook?" he asked quietly.

There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd shoot the man; even though they were mortal enemies, he had standards, and one of his personal rules just so happened to line-up with one of the Head's rules - no killing each other during a time of cease fire. But this was a really curious turn of events… the man had come out here, unarmed? No one went anywhere unarmed. What sort of trick was this? If he was trying to lay some sort of trap, this was a weird way to do it…

Spy considered answering. "Why? Because in case I got caught your people would be a little less likely to shoot an unarmed man. I was almost certain I would be found, the woods are…" He looked for the right word, "Not a place I'm familiar with. I don't think I've been getting better sneaking around a forest, but you didn't notice me the two times before this."

He smiled. That was a little bit more satisfactory, remembering the two times he'd quietly observed the bushman without incident. "I've done it more often with Soldier, he's too much of a bumbling idiot to notice me even if I didn't have the invisi-watch. Heavy…" The Spy hesitated. "Is not as much of an idiot as I thought. He caught me almost instantly, warned me to stay away, and sent me back to our base." He scowled at you. "But neither of them made me climb a tree with a broken arm."

"You broke your own arm. You were already up the tree on your own. I didn't make you do anything."

Well, alright, that was a bit of a lie, but he didn't feel too bad about stretching the truth here. Spy had been quick enough to climb when he had told him to; why hadn't the man protested or refused? He had started off low enough that he could have jumped if he wanted to, landing with little or no damage to his person.

So why hadn't he?

"So, you go coward-sneaking around out here, trying to… what? I'd understand if this was one of your freaky 'intel gathering' spook things, but what could you possibly figure out by watching us out here? Trying to learn our hunting techniques? S'matter… you Blu's can't figure out how to shoot a critter on your own?"

"I am gathering intelligence." He said quietly. "Intelligence on you. Your habits, your mannerisms, and since the only place you, Soldier, and Heavy are alone and actually actively participating in something is out here. Believe me, my knowledge on your Medic, Scout, Demoman, Spy, and Engineer is quite extensive."

His lip twitched. "Sometimes I wish I _hadn't _studied you all so closely. Sitting in Scout's room with nothing to do for several hours while he admires himself naked in front of a full-body mirror is much more horrifying than getting killed."

"The Medic has performed some…_ interesting _experiments on the Heavy, and they're so loud down in his lab it's a miracle you can't hear them. Also, it was… Entertaining, watching them go at it for three hours straight." Spy cleared his throat.

"In short, I'm gathering the weak links in your team. For example, if I were to threaten one of your people, how best to do it? What do I threaten Engineer with? What do I threaten the Demo with?" He smiled widely. "It's a fun job sometimes."

Sniper scowled in silence for a moment. The man wasn't just blowing smoke; it sounded like he had done some decent amount of digging around in their personal spaces. He could only hope their own Spy was doing the same.

"You've got a big mouth for a spook. Isn't that a problem in your profession?" He growled. A taunting smirk crossed his face for a moment and he lifted his eye from the scope for a moment to glance over at the other man. "…unless that mouth is better for a few other things. Unprofessional things. Sounds like yer spending a lot of 'personal' time with us, spook. Enjoying 'seeing the sights' as it might be. Wot's th' matter… yer own team can't abide a poofter and his 'preferences'?"

Spy lightly smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand. "I am as straight as an arrow, Sniper." He said, frowning. He set one hand to his heart in a mocking gesture of honesty. "And even if I wasn't, none of you but your Spy is particularly attractive in any sense. As for my big mouth? As if you'll go spouting to your team that an enemy told you any of this. Judging by what your Medic's done when he's in a rage, he'd probably tear you apart limb from limb, eat you, then demand your silence."

Hmm…

"Wot others do in the privacy of their own… wherevers… isn't any of my business," he shrugged the words off. If the other man was as 'straight an an arrow', then Sniper was about to give up meat and be a vejjo. Somehow, his taunt felt a little flat now. "But you pashing on our Spy sounds a bit… narcissistic. Go make out with a mirror - it'll be just as cold to yah."

Sniper put his eye back up against the scope, but lowered the rifle again almost immediately.

"Wait a mo… You out here, following me through the woods, watchin' me on my hunting trips… that some sort of come on, there, mate?" he asked, giving the other a long look.

Well. He'd been found out.

The Spy gave a bark of laughter, flawlessly covering up any indication of his true motive. "Please, bushman." He laughed. "There is no way anyone could be attracted to you. The only way you could get a date is if she were blind; and even then I'm still not certain you'd have a semblance of a chance."

"I'll have you know, I've had plenty of shelias across my days, an' not a single break up was on bad terms," Sniper sniffed, unimpressed. Well, alright, there was a few that had ended in fights… and some in tears… and more than a couple had needed a binge or two afterwards. But not a single one was not thought thought fondly of when he looked back over the years.

Oh, strewth, now he felt old.

Piss.

"Could still get a gal, too, if the job left time for it," he countered, forcing his own thoughts away by bringing the rifle up again. "Problem is, all these state-side shelias are so damn useless when it comes to handling a weapon. Gimme a good ol' gal from Oz… they know how to handle their grog and gear down there."

Spy rolled his eyes. "Is that all you look for? Honestly, Sniper, I bet you couldn't give a compliment even when it was wrapped and had a bow on top."

"And everyone goes mad over a Frenchman, not so much over an Aussie," He said teasingly. "French is the language of love, after all. Just say something like _Je suis très attiré par vous, mais vous ne pouvez pas me comprendre._ Poor American women don't know what it means, I could insult them and they'd still find it poetic."

"Believe me, mate, yer international spew ain't worth much," Sniper chuckled. "Th' shelias in town are bloody ripper ta' buy me a pint an' listen for a spell. The Lucky Country's tongue is ridgy-didge as th' love language."

He fell silent, tracking a doe for a couple of minutes. It'd be a clean shot, but the season was off, and he let her pass unbothered.

"…so, you gonna sit there, insultin' me with yer tongue twisters, or are you gonna let me set yer arm?"

"What would you know about it?" He muttered, but offered the broken limb out to the man. Spy'd already assessed it as a broken ulna, but his medicinal knowledge didn't go past that. Who knew, the bushman might actually know something beyond what he did, but Spy privately thought not. In his mind, best case scenario was that the Aussie didn't break it even worse than it was already broken.

"I'm fairly certain the only one of us other than our Medics who knows anything about medicine is Soldier." Spy said, voice doubtful. "I've seen him stitch up a wound and set a broken arm, but I've never seen anyone else do anything resembling medical work other than he and Medic." He hesitated a moment. "If I even think you don't know what you're doing I am going to shove you out of this tree faster than you can say 'kangaroo'."

Sniper chuckled, moving around the core of the tree to get closer to the other man. The humidity was spiking, he could feel it in the beads of sweat along the back of his neck and down his arms. Another storm front was on its way. If they were still up this tree when it hit…

Well, he didn't want to think about that.

He wanted to be down before it hit.

"If that is the best threat you can make, you might as well just say 'roo'. Shorter term, sounds like you've given me shorter time," he teased lightly as he took the Spy's hand in his, palm up, steadying it as he held the other's arm out straight, feeling along with his free hand. "…piss, you really are a spook… do you even HAVE any bones?"

Sniper got his answer when his thick fingers tripped over a spike of something that was clearly sticking out from where it shouldn't be. Ah, whoops. He gave a light press, feeling his way around the edges of the broken bone.

"Ulna," he declared after a moment. "That'd be right. Still, as far as a break goes, it could be worse."

Spy stifled a cry of pain at the first contact, resisting the natural urge to punch the Australian. His good arm curled in a fist. _If he did that on purpose… _

He wasn't surprised to hear Sniper had confirmed what he already thought. "Thanks for telling me what I already knew, bushman," He said through gritted teeth, flinching whenever your fingers brushed against a more sensitive area. "I would be most thankful if you were to hurry this up."

"Griping a lot for a man stuck up a tree," Sniper pointed out idly as he felt around the painful area to see if there were any other spots fractured in the fall. "I could just as easily leave you up here on yer own." Mnn… yup, that's about right; like he thought, the man's arm was rooted. He bet he'd see bone pushing up through skin once he got the man out of his jacket.

If.

If he got the man out of his jacket.

Well, this would be an interesting challenge…

"Start undressin', Spook. It ain't all that bad. It can be bound up for support ta' keep you from jostling it on the way down, but I'm gonna need to see yer arm proper if you want th' help."

"You have got to be kidding me," Spy had suspected it was coming; and he'd been right. Spy debated it for several long moments, but between his need for medical care and the fact that it was becoming hotter and hotter every minute, he decided that any cons there were didn't come close to the necessity. He awkwardly shuffled out of his jacket, giving off both French and English curses as he did so. The suit fit so snugly it was nearly painted on; even with two hands it would be difficult to get out of.

After a long, difficult process, he draped his suit coat over his shoulders. Beneath it he wore a stiff-looking white dress shirt. He arched an eyebrow in challenge at the Sniper, as though waiting for him to say something.

By the look he was giving, this next part was going to take more convincing than merely telling him to get out of the dress shirt.

Sniper wanted to laugh; the other man looked so disgruntled. It was a testament to just how much pain Spy must be in, that he would actually take his jacket off, and in front of an audience, no less!

An audience of one, perhaps, but it was still an audience. It was also an appreciative audience - Sniper couldn't help but sit back with a curiously amused feeling as he watched the Spy struggle to keep himself composed. He must be suffering something awful…

But now Spy was glowering at him with a challenging look. He didn't really need the shirt off in order to look at the man's arm… even though the stuffy dress shirt looked just as uncomfortably out of place as the rest of Spy's get-up and was an affront to common sense. No, he could just as easily roll the sleeve up out of the way. Still… a challenge had been issued. Insults had been slung. He couldn't leave either unanswered.

"Oh, come on," Sniper's voice had a pleasant rumble to it, dropped down into a low tone of amusement, as if they were drinking blokes rather than violent enemies. "Quit lookin' like I've got m'knife to yah. Look, with the two of us out here all alone, who's gonna say 'boo'? I won't tell a soul that there's actually a man beneath that stuffy suit."

He took a moment to let his eyes roam slowly over the Spy's appearance. The spiking humidity made the already-tight material cling to the body beneath it, leaving very little to the imagination. Oh, yes, the man was definitely uncomfortable. Served him right, the bloody idiot. Pranced around the battlefield, grinning like a shot fox, thinking he was better than everyone else in his ridiculous get-up…

Sniper grinned in appreciation and even ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip for good measure.

"Speakin' of m'knife, I could just as easily cut th' sleeve away, you know. Wouldn't take much more than a flick of m'wrist." He let his voice grow serious, almost thoughtful. "But that seems like such a shame… seein' how it's practically a part of yah. Almost cruel. So how about you just work with me instead, hey?"

Sniper leaned out further around the core of the tree, moving closer towards the uncomfortable man, and slowly slid the tie free.

"…come on, spook, what's the matter?" He all but purred, giving the other man a slow grin. "Need a hand?"

He weighed his options for a moment, shifting uncomfortably. The bushman's casualness, his carelessness, was very disconcerting. The way his voice was so… relaxed, laid back, possibly even amused, was a little frustrating; as though the Sniper wasn't taking him as a serious threat anymore. As though he were speaking to a friend.

Spy's eyes locked onto the Sniper's tongue as it glided over his lips. An inward shiver of… Something- Spy wasn't sure what- ran through him. He hastily agreed that Sniper _not _cut up his dress shirt with a faint noise of protest.

At Sniper's touch at his neck, the Spy flinched. Oh, it was hardly anything, but even if the man was just loosening and untying his tie, his hands were still at his neck. He was still wary. To himself, he thought that Sniper brought up a fair point. However, taking off the remainder of clothing on his upper half would probably be less painful than rolling up the sleeve, and probably be less hot, too.

His pride wouldn't let him say yes to the Sniper; he couldn't admit that he did need a hand. He exhaled and shouldered his pride; he wasn't an idiot, even if he was prideful, and the less pain the better. "Yes, bushman, I do need a hand." He muttered through gritted teeth, unable and unwilling to keep the resentment out of his voice.

The fingers of his good arm started unbuttoning; this he could do by his lonesome. He slowly began working his way down, able to get each one free in less than a second. Something he'd practiced, and often, by the look of it.

Now that it was unbuttoned, here was where the bushman could hopefully help.

Well, now… this was an interesting turn of events. Sniper was starting to wonder just how far he could take this. How far could he make Spy go? It certainly would be worth a little discomfort of his own to see the other man's face when he would be able to lord it over him. Not able to give a compliment or pick someone up? Pig's arse!

"Hold on there," Sniper said, backing up on his own branch. He hoisted himself up another foot, then stepped around the core, and dropped down on Spy's branch with a grunt, seating himself behind the other man. "There. Make it a lot easier on yah, rather than leaning out all over the place, hey?" he teased lightly, steadying the Spy as the limb creaked and bounced briefly.

Satisfied that they weren't about to take a fall, he slid his hands down from the other's shoulders and slipped them slowly around Spy's torso. The piker was skinny, that was fair dinkum… he could feel the curve of his ribs under his palms as easily as if they had been a rack of meat to be prepped. Those suits of his wasn't tailored for looks apparently; they were cut just right to keep from falling off him!

Hooking his chin briefly over the other's shoulder to steady him, Sniper peeled back the shirt with slow, practiced care, backing off to make some room when he helped Spy to shrug his shoulders out of the stiff material. He shifted everything towards the man's bad arm, gingerly working the limb free.

Oh, yes… that was a bad break.

"Well, that'd be right," he said as he held the forelimb still, inspecting the wound.

The Aussie could feel all of the Spy's muscles grow taut when he landed on his branch. When it lightly swayed Spy had to struggle not to panic; he would probably push both himself and the Sniper out of the tree if he didn't control his fear. A tremor ran through his body after the tree limb had settled, and his muscles slowly relaxed. Sniper's hands running down his flanks and torso was a welcome feeling, although a bit strange. He hadn't let anyone touch him like that in a long, long time.

Once he was freed from the dress shirt, not only did the Australian notice the wound, but also the things that otherwise marred his body. He was almost as pale as snow, despite constantly running around in a desert, and what was more interesting were the scars. Running down his uninjured arm were angry, bright red scratches trailing from his palm almost all the way to his elbow. There were various other scars that decorated his arms, all too small, trembling, and shallow to be knife slashes. Made by an animal, perhaps? They were all in varying degrees of freshness, some almost completely gone, others like they had just closed, and more that were scabbed over.

He didn't have an ounce of fat on him, either- While his arms were somewhat muscular and strong, if someone were just looking at his torso they would guess he was a famine victim. It was a wonder he could even have the energy to stab and fight all day long.

Other interesting marks were ones laid across his back. There were relatively few in comparison to his arms and chest, only one or two. They were large, heavy bruises, one of them huge and in the shape of a fist. Heavy's, undoubtedly, but from which team? There were various scrapes on his back, too, as though someone had dragged his naked back across rock. The bruise was a fading purple, marking it as almost gone, and the scrapes were nearly gone as well.

"What's your assessment, bushman?" The Spy asked casually, flicking his gaze over to the Sniper. Drawing his attention away from his body.

He wouldn't have thought it on his own, but seeing the man like this, it was easier to say: Spy certainly seemed to get around. Sniper had to wonder where some of these had come from - they weren't all marks from their fights and sparring knife-play. Was it wrong that that the marks and bruises looked good on the man, lending color to his impossibly pale skin? He couldn't help but wonder… were these from friendly fire? Inflicted on purpose? Or was he as bad of a sneak as he was at keeping his mouth shut?

He tore his eyes away to meet Spy's when he realized the other had asked a question.

"Arm's completely rooted," Sniper said quickly to fill in the silence. "Best I can do is bind it up with a splint ta' get you down."

But doing it from behind would be a lot harder, so he'd need to get Spy turned around, back against the core of the tree.

…he could have phrased that in a better way. Thank goodness he didn't say it out loud.

"Stay put. I'll get some flats to use," Sniper said, moving into a crouch to reach up and climb higher.

"Can do," Spy murmured, relaxing somewhat. He was relieved the Sniper hadn't asked about the canvas of scars and bruises across his skin; the scars stretching across his body would be difficult enough to explain without the painful shadow of a bruise on his back. He decided if Sniper asked he wouldn't say anything about it, and stay silent even if he pursued the subject. He'd given up enough information; and some secrets were meant to stay secrets, after all.

"Don't fall, bushman!" Spy called after the Australian, attempting to keep his thoughts from wandering into darker, more secretive territories. "Lord forbid you make me happy!"

Maybe he was feeling a little mean, maybe he was feeling a little playful; either way, Sniper couldn't help but show up the Spy. As soon as he had cut free a good, stout branch, he braced himself with his hands and feet, looked down to make sure Spy was watching, leaned back, and simply… jumped.

The great Oz was primarily a flat land, but there were still some exceptions. Plateaus erupted from the innermost bush, whereas cliffs seemed to grow from the southern tip's coast. Like most, he had spend a good chunk of his teen years wasting time climbing and cliff diving. Long ago, he had learned to be comfortable with the idea of looking down at the vast gap and still letting go.

Now, Sniper dropped from the top of the pine tree, letting gravity take hold for a couple of minutes. It was a stupid stunt, especially since he could easily smack into the other branches, but it was too late now. He had the briefest glimpse of Spy's face as he rocketed past, and the look he saw made the whole thing worth wasting the time.

Alright, enough mucking around… he braced himself and reached out, grabbing two different branches to stop his decent. His body slammed into a thick branch, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. Rough bark bit into his skin as he hauled himself up. With a grunt, he climbed up to rejoin Spy.

"You were saying something, spook?" he asked with a deeply satisfied smirk.

Spy couldn't respond for several seconds. He was leaning forward, looking down, his body language pointing to 'concerned'. His face was a hilarious mess of confusion and shock. As soon as he got over it, however, he leaned back against the tree and adopted a familiar scowl. "You idiotic jarman," He muttered. "What if you _hadn't_managed that little trick? If you'd screwed it up and died I would've been stuck up here."

Spy attempted to ignore the sudden spike of adrenaline that had come with the Sniper's fall, more accurately a dive, now that Spy thought about it… He also had to put in effort to ignore the tremendous flip his stomach gave. "There's no need to take idiotic risks, bushman." He said finally. "I don't want to get permanently treed. I have… Responsibilities, I need to…" He gave a quiet grumble. "I have something I need to do, and quite soon, judging by the sun's position. I'd prefer not jumping off a tree and breaking every bone in my body just to get back to our base."

He gave a growl of discomfort and dug around in his jacket pocket awkwardly with his good arm before finding a handkerchief. He tilted up part of his mask and dabbed at his neck, bringing it back slightly damp. In the brief movement, another mark was revealed, this time on the lower part of his forearm. Four marks, actually, faded permanently white with age. Spaced as though it looked like an animal had bitten him, and deeply, too.

Whatever had done all of this to him, one would hate to imagine what he'd done to it.

"Ah, wot's the point in livin' if you don't really live?" Sniper laughed as he resettled on Spy's branch. He was tempted to tease the other about his mask in this heat, but he knew the mask would be the one thing that wouldn't come off. If he asked, he might lose his chances all together… and he didn't want to scare the man off too soon. His hunting trip had been spoiled; he wasn't about to go back to base without something to make the time worthwhile.

He withdrew his knife and split the cutting, whittling away at the two halves to create a smoother split.

"…wot you got lined up this afternoon, mate? Lookin' to watch another round of yer mates holing up for a pash?" he asked, giving Spy a coy look. "I'd imagine you'd need a real good hiding place. If they catch you again, they might give you a second thrashing… unless yer into that, too."

"It's private business, bushman. It involves myself and another party, but not in the manner you might think. I'm not going to spy on anyone for several days yet. This… Other… Is in desperate need of attention that I have been unable to give due to, well, working." He shifted uncomfortably, hastily changing the subject. "Don't _you_ have something else to be doing this afternoon other than chasing people up trees?"

He'd hoped the Sniper wouldn't connect what he'd given away with the scars on his arms and his absence from several battles, although those battles were unimportant; really just busy work. To make up for this he tried his very hardest in the battles that really counted. He'd killed more on the enemy team than their own Heavy in the past few major fights. He'd taken unnecessary risks, but made up for it by the risks actually being worth it.

The Spy snapped back into focus, attempting to drift away from his thoughts.

"I was huntin'; looks like I already bagged m'prey," Sniper teased, but dropped the humor in his voice for favor of a more thoughtful tone. "Th' only matter I'm thinkin' it might be is that a sharp-lookin' bloke doesn't spy on other's 'relations' without wanting some of his own."

Satisfied with the work he had done, he pocketed his hunting knife, and scooted closer.

"But I suppose that isn't any of my business. Roight, gimme yer arm, Spook. Let's set it right an' git you on yer way."

Sniper took Spy's arm, gingerly but firmly, and straightened it out in front of them. This was going to hurt, but they both knew that bone had to be set back in right before it could be splinted and wrapped. With both hands on Spy's arm, Sniper gently massaged the pads of his thumbs around the protruding lump.

"You gonna scream, mate?" he found himself asking with a crooked, curious grin. "When I pop this back in ta' place - you gonna holler an' scream? Or you gonna take it proper, like a man? If yer gonna scream, you best pull that lil' lacy thing back out an' stuff it in yer mouth… don't want ta' draw attention. Someone might hear yah and wonder what yer doing up a tree with me."

He couldn't resist giving the other man a teasing, suggestive wink.

"You're setting a broken arm back into place," Spy said scornfully. "Of course I'm going to scream, bushman, it's only natural when in pain. Fortunately enough for me, if anyone looks up to see the two of us in a tree I can cloak myself. You, however, cannot; and I'd imagine it would be quite hilarious if someone came looking and found you up a tree supposedly screaming to yourself."

His lip twitched into a smile. "I'll spare you of that, however, I'll do my best to stifle my poor immasculine screaming." He offered a tiny smirk. "Go on, bushman."

Well, that settled it; the Spy was definitely a poofter, he wasn't even trying to cover it anymore. Sniper wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He turned his focus back on the task at hand - literally - and inspected the wound carefully, trying to figure out the best way to go about it. No better way than the direct way…

Digging his thumbs in, he pushed hard, feeling the bones grind as he worked it back into place. Sniper took his time about it, though; in part to make sure nothing was made worse, of course, but… well… he'd be lying if he omitted the small bit of pleasure he got out of it. This was his enemy after all, but in the heat of battle, things often moved too fast. They rarely got the chance to have a one-on-one session that was as personal as this. The scars and bruises on the other man's body told him that he might be the only one that hasn't gotten the chance. He wasn't about to miss out.

Spy gave a gasp of pain at the first contact, then gritted his teeth. If the Sniper was going to be as slow as this, Spy anticipated he wouldn't last too long without breaking into a scream. _If he's doing this slowly on purpose, I am going to kill him, _Spy thought furiously, swallowing and pinning down a groan that threatened to develop into a full-on screech of pain.

Spy snarled softly and attempted to calm himself down just a little, resisting the animalistic urges that pleaded he attack what was causing him agony. Spy had long since learned how to repress pain; the only way was to get hurt often, and in his youth he'd been quite the popular punching bag. When Spy was fifteen, he'd murdered most of the people who had ever physically abused him, but had mostly just been afraid afterwards; afraid he would be caught. He never was. By twenty, he'd realized he had a natural talent for killing, and had taken to espionage and assassination like a duck to water.

There was a sudden, startling surge of agony that jarred him. Spy's good hand instinctively curled into a tight fist, and he felt his nails bite into his own palm. A shout was forced from his lips, although somewhat muffled.

"Doin' right there, mate," Sniper praised softly as he squeezed around Spy's arm, slowly feeling to make sure there wasn't anything sticking out in the wrong places. He wasn't sure why he offered the kind words - he supposed Spy actually had done better than he thought the man would. The muffled sounds certainly gave away just how much pain he was in. He wondered what the other man would sound like if he kept going, biting back exclamations of pain, keening in a long, drawn out cry as he desperately tried not to let the sounds out…

He wondered why he was wondering about those things.

After all, he was a professional.

His work was about swift accuracy; he didn't get up close and personal with torture with the others.

"So, yer 'business' have anythin' ta' do with yer other arm?" Sniper asked conversationally as he bound the two halves of wood around Spy's arm, creating a splint to keep it from getting jostled.

Spy frowned at this, looking rather offended; the pain was fading from his face, replaced by only occasional twitches of discomfort. Sharp twinges of agony came from his arm every so often, but they were so spaced it wasn't constant enough to vocalize his pain.

"I'm offended you suggest such a thing," Spy said with a snort. "Unlike you, bushman, I wouldn't need to resort to…" He considered a moment. "Doing it myself, I suppose. I'm fairly certain if I asked your Spy for such a thing, he'd say yes."

Spy flashed a sly grin at the other man. "But it's also possible he has gone at it with me before. Haven't you noticed how we both often go missing during unimportant battles?" Sniper didn't _know _he was lying about he and his double interacting intimately, but he didn't need to. And Spy was fairly certain his double would agree to such a thing anyway. But in any case, he said it to discomfort the Australian after the unnecessary pain he'd put Spy through.

Oh, what a lovely mental image _that _would bring to the Sniper. It almost made Spy want to laugh.

Sniper felt a rush of heat burn in his ears and down his neck that had nothing to do with the humidity.

"I meant these," he said quickly, dropping the injured arm in favor of holding up Spy's good one, displaying the four, white scars. "Any of them, actually… y'got a lot of scars and bruises for a man that hasn't been in on a fight in quite a while."

"The bruises are from your Heavy." He explained. "When he first caught me attempting to spy, he was rather violent. He nearly strangled me while bashing me against the ground. He only let me go because I managed to convey that I was unarmed." Spy gave a casual shrug. "These four wounds here? Bites. From when…" His face grew a little darker, his brows knitting together. "Well, I fought a group of wild dogs outside my home ten or so years ago."

He jabbered on about the scrapes on his back and other various wounds, but carefully avoided speaking about the scars.

Wild dogs? Wouldn't be too big of a leap from a pack of those to the pack of wolves that ran around here… and it didn't escape his notice that the other had avoided answering his question.

"Surprisingly brave of ya, spook. Traipsing around out in these woods with a history like that," Sniper interrupted Spy as the other man tried to go on and on about each and every little scrape. "Yer unarmed, can barely climb a tree without breakin' something, an' yer following after men who could easily tear you apart or put a hole in yer head with the same ease as bringin' down a deer."

He hadn't let go of Spy's arm; holding it aloft as if to keep the scars on display.

"If yer a poofter after pain, then that's your business… but with a bad bite like this, even as old as it is, I'd think you'd want to skirt clear of the woods with the packs that run out here. Bet they wouldn't be quite as 'gentle' as yer dogs were."

"I'm aware of the dangers, Mundy." He snapped angrily, nostrils flaring. "They weren't exact;y gentle, either. I'm an adult, bushman, I can handle myself. I know the risks of doing what I do and I take them." His eyes widened a little when he realized he'd used the Sniper's name instead of his title, and he let out a little snort. Dammit, was he really getting this worked up over it?

"Ignore me." Spy muttered briskly. He didn't bother adding that when he fought the dogs he wasn't able to use his arms, even though he wanted to. He had a strange desire to prove that he was just as masculine as anyone else on the team, but the fact of the matter was, he knew better. He wasn't a 'man' like Saxton Hale or the Heavy; he was suited for gentler work. His voice eased, becoming less angry. "I didn't fight the dogs because I wanted to." He finally said. "I did it because they were attacking something else important to me."

Sniper grit his teeth. Pretty brave of the Spy, talking to him like that, flaunting the knowledge he had gathered in secret. His plans of getting the edge over the other man were forgotten for a moment; maybe he'd just leave the man up here on his own anyways and let him fall to his death.

But maybe he had more than he thought he did. His anger ebbed and he jumped on the slip-up the moment the words left the other man's lips:

"Who then?"

Spy realized what he'd done just a split second before the Sniper asked. Panic flickered across his face; it wasn't long, it lasted only a split second. Then it returned to the ever-present scowl. "None of your concern, bushman." He said haughtily.

Spy realized it may be best just to abandon the conversation now. With a simple tweak of the side of his wrist watch, he vanished from view.

Was this an awkward way to end a conversation? Yes. Did Spy care? No. He just had to stop being an idiot and giving away information like it was free.

"That trick might work on the ground, but up here, you've got nowhere to go, mate," Sniper growled, reaching out to wrap his hand around the invisible man's throat before Spy could try and leave their branch.

Shifting, Sniper pressed in close, leaning his weight against the other, making sure the other man knew he wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

"Come on, now, Spook… it's jus' you an' me out here… no one comin' to rescue you," he reminded Spy in a low voice. "You wanna make yer 'appointment', you better come back into view an' start talking."

"Mundy." Spy pleaded. The fingers of his good arm closed around the wrist at his neck. The Sniper could feel him, shifting uncomfortably. He didn't attempt to pull the Sniper's arm away, knowing it was useless. "Please."

"You beggin' now, Spy?" Sniper growled. "How unusual for a man of your… class."

He chose the word carefully, knowing it would insult both the man's profession and his prissy was of dressing. The Spy just loved to think he was better than everyone else… poked his nose into places it didn't belong… sneaking around, trying to find out things that were better left alone and private…

Yeah, but which one of them was actually stuck up this tree?

"Un. Cloak. Now."

There were several long, hesitant moments. There was a slight shimmer tinged with blue, then Spy reappeared. His gaze was cast downward, not meeting the Sniper's. Embarrassed or ashamed, either would work. He didn't say anything.

Sniper pressed in even closer, his face right in Spy's, making himself impossible to ignore, but he loosened his grip a little around the other man's throat; intimidation through presence rather than force always suited him better.

"There. Wasn't that hard, now, was it."

He wasn't sure what to say next. Sniper had never heard a Spy actually plead before. It was strangely… humanizing.

No, he had to focus; even in a time of cease fire, this man was an enemy who knew too much damaging information. Screw playing games, he wanted to know how the Spy found him out, why he had been stupid enough to climb a tree to stalk him, and where he was off to after this.

"Why don't you start with how you found out my name."

"That one was simple enough." Spy said, voice notably displaying relief. "Tracing any calls you made back to your parents. It was simple enough to ask them, although it was a hastle to fly to Australia to go talk to them in person." His lip quirked up into a tiny smile. "They offered to show me around your home, and I like to think that I learned a significant deal about yourself and Australia."

He thought about bragging a little more, to say just how much he'd learned about not just Sniper but also the other mercenaries; he'd made arranged meetings with their families, as well, except for Heavy. The only reason he knew anything about the Heavy at all was because he stole the RED Medic's medical reports. "Your mother is a nice woman, Sniper, be blessed your parents are still alive. Mine aren't." He gave the tiny jab just to see how Sniper would react, and to display that Sniper was not completely in control here. Spy attempted to convey that he wasn't afraid.

Sniper's fist closed tight around Spy's throat, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises beneath the fabric of the man's mask. Standards be damned, he'd kill him; you don't go to a man's home or mess with his parents.

"If you even think of doing anything to 'em…" he snarled, face red with rage. The threat was left open-ended - there simply wasn't enough lifetimes of pain he could deliver onto the other man.

Spy gave a restricted noise, his good hand flying up to attempt to pry Sniper's fingers away. "_Gllrrhhkkk,_" He choked, the pressure closing in on unbearable. Spy struggled a little in his grip, but didn't try to move too far to either side. He still didn't want to fall, even if the Australian was just a single word away from choking the life out of him.

He'd found Sniper's weak point; just like Heavy's, it was his parents. He would've smiled if he wasn't too busy attempting to get Sniper's hand away from his throat and concentrating on not being strangled.

"I will make sure you join your dead oldies if you ever so much as _hint_ that you're up to something involving mine," Sniper swore, unrelentingly squeezing the other man's airway shut. "And I will make sure you're _alive_ when yer buried with 'em. Got me, Spy?"

Watching the Spy's eyes to make sure the message was received, he let off just enough to allow the other to suck in a breath of air.

Spy greedily took gulp of air, and immediately after started coughing. This continued for several dozen seconds until could properly breathe again.

"I get it, bushman," He wheezed faintly, his voice a lot weaker and a few notes higher than normal. He gently rubbed his throat with his good arm, his fingertips just barely touching the fabric of his balaclava.

Sniper let Spy be for a couple of minutes, giving him a chance to catch his breath. He didn't trust the other man's word for a second; he knew this information would be used against him at some point, after all, that's what spies did. It was their job. It was just a little harder to take when it was your personal information that was being gathered and flaunted.

He'd have to remember to ask their own Spy what sort of dirt he had on the Blu Spy.

Later.

"Since you took the trip, you must know we have a phrase back home… 'making a blue'," Sniper picked up the thread of conversation again, watching the other man carefully. "Means makin' a mistake. You're wearing unlucky colors today, mate."

He let his eyes travel other Spy's body, pointedly lingering over the only remaining bits of clothing he still wore. The poofter probably loved all the attention he was getting… bloody show pony…

"Would hate for you to have another accident on yer way down. So why don't you tell me who yer 'appointment' is and maybe you'll make it on time."

Spy gave a laugh. It was harsh and barking, riddled with the stereotypical french "hon hon hon", and incredulous. "Oh, please." He drawled. "I'd rather you strangle me the full way, bushman. This is top secret; and I've certainly gone up against tougher interrogators than you." He paused for a moment. "Just be glad you won't see me on the field of battle for a week, bushman, and drop the subject."

There was something beneath his amused, casual air. Like a loaded gun, there was something that would need the right tug or pull to have the potential to turn deadly.

Well, since the man insisted…

Sniper pulled his hand away from the other's throat, but Spy didn't have time to enjoy the freedom; immediately, it was replaced by Sniper's forearm. He braced it across the other's windpipe and leaned hard, bearing down against him.

"Bloody confident for a man trapped." He growled softly, almost nose-to-nose with the other. There was no malice in his words this time, however; he was calm, doing this as part of his duty to his team, rather than vengeance against the other's transgressions. "Where you think yer disappearing off to, Spy? Jettin' out to another team mate's home, lookin' to mess with them too?"

Spy struggled to choke something out, but it was so broken and restricted it could have been in English, French, or just an exclamation of pain or surprise. Spy's fingers tightly clamped onto the Sniper's shoulder, digging in his fingernails. Which were, surprisingly enough, rather long. His gray eyes glared furiously into the Sniper's, and his teeth were clenched. He sputtered something else out incoherently.

His eyes grew unfocused and hazy after a little while, signaling he was getting close to passing out.

Sniper let up again, shifting his arm lower to pin Spy in place across his chest, and let the other man breathe. Beneath his vest, his shoulder burned; Spy's nails were animal-sharp, he'd have to watch out for those.

"Got your attention now?" he asked quietly, resting his forehead against the other's. It could almost be seen as intimate, if it wasn't so threatening. "Because we can go all day if that's what floats yer boat, Spook. Just say the word."

He looked up at Sniper and offered a woozy grin. Spy wasn't thinking properly, his oxygen-starved brain wasn't working right, and he knew it. But _this _was sure to buy him a few minutes so he could start thinking of a clever lie.

He moved his hand to grip the back of the Sniper's neck and tilted his head forwards so his lips met his enemy's. He curled his fingers tightly around the Sniper's head, probing a little upward so he could have a better handhold in Sniper's hair.

Sniper's eyes went wide and, for a moment, he was too shocked to move. He had threatened the Spy and… and Spy had… those were Spy's lips on…

"Strewth!" He swore, violently throwing himself backwards, his body exploding into action borne out of his surprise. A part of him couldn't help but objectively point out that he still had a hand on the other man's chest, holding him steady against the tree's core. "The hell you playing at, spook?!"

Spy shook his head, trying to get focused. He gave a hacking cough and grinned up at the Sniper after he'd ceased quivering. "Buying myself time, kissing a handsome man." He murmured. "No cons in that, is there?"

"Except for the part where I beat you bloody an' broken for it," Sniper replied, but there was no malice in his voice; he was still too shaken. Alright… alright… well, at least he had that bit of knowledge over the other man. Didn't do much good, though - half the men across both bases sought each others company for whatever ends they needed. It wasn't for him to judge. As long as they didn't look to him for that sort of company, it wasn't his place to judge.

But now Spy had kissed him.

Did that even count?

No, he decided. No, it didn't count. The Spy was just looking to get the edge over him. It was the man's job to do that. He was trapped and was looking for any 'out' he could… that's all that was.

"…where are you going away to?" Sniper asked quietly, forcing himself to meet the other's eyes again. Professional; be professional. Questions and answers. Spy would be gone - that was important. Where and why were also important. Focus on what was important.

"Europe." He said vaguely. "Paying respects to my mother and… revisiting old haunts. Where I have to be this afternoon, Sniper, is on a plane. I trust it will do no good to ask you to tell the RED Spy not to interfere or watch?"

"Have any more questions, or can I go? I intend to be back in France before tomorrow's sun rises."

As reluctant as he was to let this go, a part of Sniper understood all too well the need to return to a family's roots. How hard would it be for him to make his own yearly pilgrimage back home when there wasn't anyone to greet him back? Despite all of this, he could respect Spy's reasons.

He had plenty of questions left to ask, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers…

"One last one, then," Sniper cleared his throat, sizing the Frenchman up carefully. "Wot the bloody strewth were you doing climbing that first tree with yer gloves on? Don't you know yer prissy gloves can't grip anything?"

Spy gave a snort of laughter. "It's part of the uniform, bushman, not that I'd expect you to understand anything like fashion." His eyes lingered on the other man's hands- one was gloved, one was not, clearly what he was trying to emphasize.

He then cleared his throat, looked up, then back at the Sniper. His lip curled up in a sly smile, and his eyes were half-closed lazily. "Now I have a question for you, bushman. Did you enjoy our kiss?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Sniper avoided the look Spy was giving him. He… he couldn't answer that. There was no way he was going to answer a question like that.

"I can either answer that or I can get you down out of this tree," he said instead. "Yer choice."

Spy gave a huff; he didn't want to do something so horribly childish, but he felt the need to… He pulled out his disguise kit and transformed into the RED Sniper in a cloud of bluish gray smoke. He cleared his throat, and said in a voice that was exactly like the Sniper's own, "I enjoyed it a lot, Spy. Best kiss I ever 'ad."

His double shot him a cheeky grin.

"Stop that!" Sniper sputtered, too indignant with horror at the mockery to do anything more than stare. It was like looking in a mirror; he even had his voice down perfectly. No wonder the spies got away with these sorts of tricks… it was a perfect double. What sort of trouble could they get into? What sort of trouble did they get into when no one was paying close enough attention?!

"You— that— yer a lousy kisser, spook! An' you can get down from this tree on yer own!"

Spy gave a snort of laughter that didn't sound like Sniper's own- it was the Aussie's voice, but it bore the marks of Spy's. Strangely French. "I can do more, if you'd like," Spy offered with his own voice. "Make them say aaaanything at all." He smoothly shifted back to his original state. "Trust me, Sniper, it is a wonderful skill to have."

He gave a disdainful snort in the Aussie's direction. "And the only reason you thought it was so lousy, bushman, was because you pulled away before I could get a chance to even start to get serious."

His eyes sparkled childishly and he offered a grin. He had a feeling Sniper wasn't going to follow up on that. He was going to help him down.

…Probably.

_"_Oh, no you don't, spook," Sniper shook his head, jamming a finger against the other's chest. "You aren't gonna goad me into it… I'm not that stupid."

…damnit…

"You don't have our Spy do these tricks, do you?" he found himself asking, practically accusing the other man of it. "When the two of you… spend time together."

"Of _course _not, what kind of person do you take me for?" Spy said slyly. "It's not like we've ever disguised as both Snipers while making love. It's not like I've ever heard what your own noises would sound like while I was with the other Spy." He chuckled. "That would just be _wrong." _Now that he thought about it, he really _should _ask the enemy Spy to do this with him.

If he was willing to do it, he was almost certain theirs would.

"I didn't mean as _ME_," Sniper sputtered and groaned. Aw, piss, this was turning into something a lot… more. He didn't want to hear details like_ this,_ he just…

Well, at least he knew Spy wasn't stalking him invisibly when he was at his most vulnerable.

"Spook, just tell me why you were out in these woods, climbin' trees like a bloody fruit loop, breakin' yer arm, when you had a plane lined up to catch."

"I didn't mean to break my arm," He grumbled. "I had to go talk to your Spy, and happening upon you was just a happy accident. I realized I had to get out of here in a damn hurry when I realized just how late I was. I slipped and broke my arm, alright?" He wasn't lying this time. He had planned to go talk to the RED Spy, to ask him to keep a watch on the BLU team. They exchanged information every month because it was usually seen as beneficial to both of their causes.

But he was _never _going to tell Sniper that.

Sniper studied the other man carefully, but couldn't see much fault in the logic. Spies talked; everyone knew that, heck, they all talked to their counterparts, taunting each other was just part of life out here in Teufort.

Of course, knowing what he knew now, Sniper realized that 'talk' could have a completely different meaning.

"…a'roight, maybe," he finally allowed, giving the other man a begrudging look. "Look, just… put yer shirt an' jacket back on. Don't want anyone getting the wrong idea if they're walkin' around out here."

Spy rolled his eyes. "How about," He said lightly, "Instead of making me go through the pain of doing that, I do this instead?" Another plume of smoke and he transformed into the RED Spy, fully clothed.

"Because I am not carryin' you down, knowing yer not fully dressed!" Sniper retorted scornfully, looking away for a moment to scan the horizon. The storm was moving up a little faster than he'd like. Best for the both of them to get this done and over with.

"For God's sake," He muttered. "Then _you _have to help me. If you can take undressing me I'm sure you can help me clothe myself." He shifted back to his regular state. He scowled out at the horizon, squinting. "A storm's coming," He observed, but it was more of a question than a statement.

"Don't tell me yer as scared of storms as you are of heights," Sniper muttered, picking the shirt back up. It occurred to him that he'd have to hug his arms around the other man in order to get it back on him…

Would he care as much if he hadn't known about Spy's 'preferences'? It had been more fun to taunt the other man when he wasn't certain which side of the line the man stood on.

"…just don't try anything, yah poofter," Sniper grumbled as he carefully pulled Spy's injured arm through the sleeve. "Or I'll throw you out this tree an' give you a second broken arm."

"_Ow." _Spy complained back. "I wouldn't dream of it, bushman. And I'm not afraid of storms, although I can tell you honestly the Pyro is. Have you noticed how it and the Engineer always seem to disappear during storms?" He grinned ever-so slightly, the look quickly broken by a yelp of pain.

"Be careful, bushman," He said grumpily.

"Just hush," Sniper growled back. He swallowed hard as he leaned in again, practically embracing the other man as he worked the shirt around behind him. Alright, he was just being silly - the Spy was a spy, his entire profession was built on unnerving his opponents, keeping them guessing, unbalancing them. That's all Spy had been doing. The man was just stirring up trouble and he got an injured arm for it. Served him right, but the faster he got the man dressed and down, the faster he could get on with his day. Hunting, of course, would be impossible with the storm rolling in, but he could at least move the camper to a lee before the storm broke.

Reaching around, he straightened the shirt out, and helped Spy get his good arm through, idly doing the buttons up for him to speed things along.

"Where's yer jacket?"

"I think…" Spy said, craning his neck and looking down, "It may be somewhere among the leaf litter beneath us. When you were strangling me- thanks, by the way- I kicked it down there."

A grin met his face. "Go on and hug me tighter, bushman, if you can handle a kiss I'm sure you can handle something as little as a hug. After all, it's my arm that's broken, not my ribs. Feel free to cuddle as much as you like."

Scowling back, Sniper looked down beneath them. Yup, there it was, lying at the base of the tree.

"Don't be so quick ta' make jokes, spook… not unless you want to climb down on yer own," he warned.

The problem with climbing down was a tricky one because, as best he could tell, there was only two ways to go: either he went down first and spot them man as they climbed or Spy clung to him for stability as they climbed down as one.

He wasn't too keen to do either at this point.

"I get it, bushman." Spy said agreeably. "Now tell me this- how do we get down?"

Sighing, Sniper closed his eyes for a moment, debating with himself.

"How good are you at climbing backwards down something without looking?" he asked, but shook his head. He already knew the answer to that. Hesitantly, he finally admitted: "I think… I'm gonna hafta… carry yah down."

"Alright." He said promptly. "Don't slip and I think we're going to be fine." Spy didn't look down, although he was tempted to- and instead glanced at his watch and groaned. "_Merde. _The flight leaves in thirty minutes."

"Pardon me for hold you up, yer Majesty," Sniper rolled his eyes. Debating for a moment how to go about things, he finally settled on the fireman hold. "Jus' don't squirm around, you show pony, an' we'll be fine."

Leaning into Spy, he hoisted him across his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his waist to secure him in place. Strewth… the man hardly weighted anything! How did he manage to break his arm; did he land on a rock? There wasn't enough weight on him to have done any damage to himself.

Carefully, Sniper started down, taking extra care not to miss a single step. If they both went down, it'd hurt more than he was willing to put up with after the sort of day he's been having.

"This is _very _undignified," Spy complained, but obediently held still. His stomach lurched when he looked down and he sucked in a breath. He attempted not to look down again, lest he become sick. He had an image to maintain, and he couldn't just start queasily vomiting on his rescuer's back.

Although the fact that he needed a rescuer in a first place damaged that image somewhat already. Spy settled on keeping his eyes shut and feeling his stomach shift and churn every time the bushman took a step down.

Sniper could hear the nervous churning in his enemy's stomach - hard not to, with his ear practically pressed against the man's flank - and found himself murmuring reassurances as he slowed his pace.

"Almost there, mate… one step at a time… sturdy as a dingo in his den… no worries, Spook…"

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind rocked the trees around them, but Sniper refused to be rushed. Steady and stead-fast, he made his way down, making sure his own feet were solid on the ground before he set Spy down.

"…probably be able ta' make yer flight if yer fast enough," he said awkwardly.

"Likely not." He said. "I still have to talk to your Spy, and that was set to happen nearly an hour ago. And even if I did start out… Well, the way there has cliffs. If that storm starts up there is going to be a mudslide, guaranteed." He bit his lower lip.

"Well then. I guess I have no choice but to let him live for a little longer." That last line was just barely above inaudibility, perhaps not meant to be spoken at all. Bitter and angry; and dare he say jealously?

Spy was a patient man. He could wait an extra day to kill someone, no problem, but he'd been waiting nearly seven years for this. "I guess, bushman, I'll have to delay it another day." He said ruefully.

"Oh," Sniper said briefly. If he was honest, he'd admit he was surprised at Spy's willingness to delay the trip. "But I thought…"

No. It wasn't any of his business. In fact, the less business he had with the Blu Spy, the better. This whole day had had been one big mess and, frankly, he wanted the security of his van's small, quiet world. Shifting his rifle, Sniper readjusted his hat, and cleared his throat.

"Well, good luck then. Oh, an' if you tell anyone about any of this, I'll kill you," he added unnecessarily. Some threat… it was practically a joke…

"Believe me when I say this, bushman, I will not be recounting this tale to anyone." Spy gave a shudder. "If I were to tell someone I would gladly kill myself before you even had a chance."

Spy's lip quirked up, he gave the Sniper a faint, quick kiss on the cheek, a wink, then vanished from view.

Sniper stared at the empty air around him for a moment, then quickly rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek, as if trying to erase the lingering feeling.

"Bloody wanker," he grumbled. "Just keep out of these woods, Spy!"

He knew he might as well be talking to himself. If the other man was smart, he would be long gone, picking his way back to his own base and his own Medic to get his arm taken care of. Thunder grumbled overhead, louder this time; Sniper grumbled back. There was no time to hunt now and no fresh meat meant he'd be picking through whatever tins he had stored in the back of his van for his supper. Spy owed him big time for—

Sniper put his hand into his pocket and, much to his surprise, pulled out the forgotten glove. Right… he had pocketed it when he found it abandoned beneath the tree…

The soft leather was smooth between his fingers, clearly well taken care of, no doubt oiled to keep it supple, with perfectly trimmed seams to prevent a single flaw from showing through. No matter what he thought about the man, Sniper had to admire the craftsmanship of the glove. Sturdy, but still so soft and delicate…

Well, maybe he had something to make this trip worthwhile after all.


	2. Part 2

(This was completed five months ago, and I probably should've uploaded it before now. Oops.)

It wasn't as if he ever thought about the man when he did it.

It was just the convenience of the glove, the soft leather far more delicately textured than anything he personally owned, that made him use it.

It was just that there were so few opportunities to go off base at all, let alone for some company of the fairer sort. A man got lonely in the long stretches between battles, you see, and he wasn't like some of his other team mates, who sought each other out to take care of their… loneliness.

It had nothing to do with the Blu Spy. The man had abandoned the glove when he got himself cornered up a tree - it was finders, keepers. Besides, Spy owed Sniper for ruining a perfectly good day of hunting by needing help after he broke his arm falling out of a tree. He'd leave the details at that… Sniper still firmly denied the idea that the Blu Spy had climbed up after him for reasons more personal than just 'gathering intelligence'.

It was just… he was so _bored_ with the magazines he had kept in his camper. He had leafed through them a hundred times over and a hundred times back; he didn't even need to open them to see the images splayed out inside, they were practically memorized after all this time. So the soft, silky leather was a nice change of pace - something new to add to the experience whenever he locked himself up inside the camper for some 'down time'.

Except now it had begun to fall apart. Sniper kept it clean the best he could, but the Blu Spy must keep his gloves oiled with something to keep them soft and supple; whatever that substance was, he didn't know of it. His own worn out leathers were proof of that. He didn't dare ask his own Spy - what would the man think about a request like that? He might make assumptions, ask his own questions, or worse: think it was a come-on. No, he'd never ask. He'd never steal a new one from his team mate either… with the glove dyed a neat, quiet blue, it was easy to pretend it wasn't there, just a shadow in his palm… somehow, red would just feel like double-masturbation.

That was the real problem, he supposed: he had too much free time on his… well, hands. There was only so much he could read or listen to records before both became dull. Knitting was a fine enough way to past time, but once he ran out of wool, he had to put the whole kit away until the next time he could buy more in town. Whittling just felt useless - he wasn't the clever sort that could make figurines out of wood; no, he made spears, toothpicks, other sharpened bits of stick. Nothing clever about that. Hunting was only for when he needed the meat and hide, because anything else would be a waste. Even battle was becoming dull; when he took shots, the others complained about him stealing their kills, so he was knocked back down to support. He'd sit around, waiting until it looked like someone was in need of help, and then he'd help them; Sniper couldn't imagine a more dull way to live. Even the Blu Spy had stopped coming around to try and knife him. He never thought he'd miss those obnoxious skirmishes. These days, he was lucky if he got a single shot off… which meant he was 'getting off' more and more just to pass the time.

Which led him back to his problem: the glove was wearing out.

And the only solution he could see was to steal a new one to replace it.

Strewth.

It'd been a hell of a lot more complicated than Spy realized to finish the job he was doing in France. The man he was trailing was clever, and frustratingly so. He'd practically abandoned his team for an entire month, only popping back occasionally and purposefully avoiding the enemy team's Sniper. He didn't want to remember everything that'd happened up in the tree, everything he'd given away; nor give him a chance to interrogate him again. And while the Sniper dealt with his troubles, Spy had his own.

He couldn't _find_ the man he was tailing. The man had learned of Spy's reputation and was hiding somewhere, as slippery as an eel and as wily as a fox. Spy just had to be patient was all.

After a fortnight of exhausting detective work, he finally found the bastard. The confrontation was brief, merely a scuffle, but it was dangerous. Spy had to break out of his sneaky, backstabbing ways and fight hand-to-hand. The result was Spy needing several stitches (which a friend helped him out with, since going to a hospital just didn't seem sane) a broken nose (which he'd had before) and a black eye (which he'd had several times before).

Once he was dead Spy regretted not letting him live longer so he could've beat the man to death. Not very professional, but this killing was a personal one.

Spy headed back to America, keeping a satchel on his lap throughout the duration of the nine hour long flight. This decision took a _lot_ of courage to make, which was not something Spy had in spades. But that didn't matter; what _did_matter was that he would be back soon and he and the bushman could actually start up a fight again. Or possibly something more intimate, either one.

He distantly wondered how the bushman was fairing when he exited the airport. He slipped off his gloves as he drove back, enjoying the sensation of his hands being free. Rather like taking off socks after a long day, strangely pleasurable. Not to say he didn't _like_ having the gloves on- they were soft, he was used to them, and they were his gloves. Even if he had left one behind in a forest, he had an extra pair for the occasion.

He whistled quietly to himself as he drove, glancing at the sunset for a moment. It was just setting and the desert was going to cool off soon enough. The land only had two temperatures: Too hot and too cold, during day and night respectively.

Spy parked, scooping up his gloves, satchel, and suitcase, and headed back for his base. Home at last, all that was left now was to begin the game between himself and the bushman. He lightly rubbed his bruised, blackened eye and decided he'd get Medic to take care of it in the morning. He shuffled to his room, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

At the sound of the key, Sniper had dove underneath the bed, curling his legs up close against his body in order to actually _fit_ in his hiding place.

Well, this was just bloody embarrassing… he had snuck into the Blu base with only the briefest of risks, picked the lock with ease, but here he was, hiding like a cowardly fruit loop - like a Spy - caught in the middle of his burglary attempt. Maybe he should have just stood his ground and tried to knock the Blu Spy out instead… well, too late now. He'd just have to wait for the man to settle in for the night, then try and make it back out. Worse came to worse, he could just wait until morning, although he'd be loathed to wait that long. Maybe killing the Spy in his sleep would buy him the time while the other was in respawn?

Sniper realized that, for any of those to work, he'd actually have to not get caught. The problem wasn't patience; it was stealth.

Spy gave a loud sigh, then sat down on his bed with a groan. "That was exhausting," He mumbled to the satchel. "I can't believe that man actually had the talent to hide from me. For _weeks, _no less."

There was no response, but the Spy wasn't expecting to hear one; the Frenchman was alone, wasn't he? Spy gave a resigned sigh and shuffled over to a bookshelf. He kneeled and did something or other, the Sniper couldn't see at this angle, then stood up, grabbed a book, and flopped onto his bed. After a minute or so there was unmistakable purring, accompanied by the sound of Spy muttering something in French; judging by the way they were said, Sniper assumed they were compliments.

He snorted softly and set the book aside. "I should retrieve my other glove." He said. "After all, there's no point in having just one in a set, is there?" There was a longer silence. "Tomorrow," He promised himself.

A quiet trilling noise in response, then a long stretch where not a single word was spoken; there was the scratch of a pencil occasionally and the purr of a cat was constant.

For once, Sniper had nothing but pleasant things to think about the skinny Frenchman; had it been anyone other than him, he had a feeling that 'under the bed' would have been the worst place to hide, but with Spy's barely-existent weight, the noisy old bedding held up just fine, barely dipping over his head.

It didn't surprise him in the least to hear Spy comment about the missing glove - frankly, he felt that the man should have come after him a long, long time ago. The lack of retaliation made him wonder if Spy even cared enough to retrieve his property from his Red enemy. Of course, it also made him wonder if Spy enjoyed the thought of him having it.

Sniper covered his nose and mouth quickly.

It wasn't the thought that spurred him into action; rather, the sound that had interrupted his thoughts: the horrible purr of a cat. Strewth… Spy had brought a cat along. He must have - there had been no smell of cat when Sniper broke in, no errant dander to tickle his senses. There was a reason his parents kept the cat in the barn and the dogs inside; it wasn't just because each of them had their own roles to play on the homelands.

Spy set his pencil down and finally got up after what felt like an eternity. "So," He had his head turned to the cat. "Hidden, I know this place is small compared to what you're used to, but I think you'll get used to it. So long as you don't make too much noise I should be able to get away with keeping you here." He picked the cat up, headed to the bookshelf, and Sniper got to see what the cat in question looked like. Jet-black from its nose all the way to its tail, with sharp, intelligent golden eyes that bored into his disapprovingly. The cat didn't make a sound as its head poked over the Spy's shoulder and looked uncaringly into the Sniper's eyes, and continued to not make a sound as Spy set it by the food dish he'd set out.

Spy started humming something quietly in French, stripping off his gloves and tossing them onto the dresser. He did the same with his tie, then set his shoes by the door. Next came the suit jacket, which he hung up in a tiny closet, and his suit pants, which were hung similarly. And, most interestingly of all, he took off his mask; which he put on the dresser along with his tie and gloves. He flicked off the lights and gave a tiny groan as he threw his blanket over himself.

After a few moments, the cat came padding over silently, its yellow eyes glinting. It curled up under the bed, putting its head next to Sniper's neck and staring up at him with half-closed, amused eyes.

Oh, strewth… the animal was just as cruel as its owner. He always knew cats had a mean streak in them - little hunters by nature, they killed just as often for sport as they did for food - but this one was seemed to just _know_ how uncomfortable he was, how much he didn't belong here, how much he loathed the little beast back…

It had surprised him that Spy had disrobed so completely for bed. He had always assumed that the removal of the mask was an event that never happened - _ever_. And yet, there it was, lying on the dresser. Conveniently, in fact, right beside the gloves. If he made it out of here, he might just make it with more than the treasure he had come for…

Sniper longed to lash out at the cat… what had Spy called it? Hidden? How appropriate of a man like Spy to have a wicked little night-beast named 'Hidden'. He wanted to reach out, push the animal away, shoo it off as it drew near, but any move like that would lead to him being found immediately. All he had to do was wait it out. Spy had already gone to bed; it was just a matter of time before he was asleep, then he could make his escape.

But the little hell-thing was coming his way. Oh, strewth, it was coming his way and it was under the bed now and it was practically _rubbing_ up against him…

Sniper felt his eyes begin to tear up, the tickle in the back of his throat slowly building up towards becoming a choking feeling. No, he could hold on. Sneezing now would be as disastrous as panicking. All he had to do was be patient and wait it out… that was his job, to be patient, be professional, be—

Sniper made a near-silent noise in the back of his throat, a muffled choking sound that he tried so hard to suppress, and squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying beyond all hope that Spy assumed it was the cat.

If there was anything lighter than Spy, it was his sleeping. He snapped awake immediately, bolting upright. "Hidden?" He asked loudly. The cat by the Sniper's neck gave a little answering trill. Damn, the Sniper could practically _see _the amusement in his cat's face. Spy got clumsily out of bed and gave an annoyed mumble, quietly calling the cat's name and heading exactly for the Sniper's hiding spot. It was pitch black in here, more or less, and even if he and Spy were two inches from each other the Sniper doubted he'd see him. But the Spy was going to use touch rather than sight to locate his pet, and that would get a little bit trickier.

There was a brief moment of panic before the cat shot the Australian a look, one that silently declared '_you owe me'._ The creature got up contemptuously, flicking his tail into a candy-cane shape and giving low, quiet meows and heading directly for the Spy's outstretched arms.

Spy scooped the cat up lovingly and murmured "Grumpy old grand-père," before getting back into bed. Judging by the tiny noises the mattress springs were making, the cat was pacing; and afterwards, the tiny increase in weight around where Spy's feet should be clearly marked where the cat was now laying. "You're old," Spy complained, his words were muddled with sleepiness. "You shouldn't be making odd noises in the middle of the night, Hidden, you should be sleeping."

The cat, unsurprisingly, ignored him as it settled down cozily and began to purr again.

Un-bloody-believable.

He would have never thought it, but maybe he owed Hidden a little something for that. Well, he supposed he wouldn't kill the little beast on his way out. There, debt repaid.

Sniper waited until he could hear the other man's breathing drop away into a comfortable sleep pattern before he even dared to uncurl his body. He was uncomfortably stiff, but he moved slow enough that, by the time he had his legs straightened out once more, the feeling had come back to them. Ever so carefully, he pulled himself along by his arms, sliding silently out from underneath the other man's bed. The carpet was decorated by unseen bits of fur shed by Hidden; it made Sniper's eyes itch and water like crazy, but all he could do was keep his face from rubbing up against the carpet. Oh, strewth… once he got out of here, a cold dunking would be the only thing that would make this right. A cold dunking and the world's loudest sneeze…

It suddenly occurred to him, as he crouched in the middle of Spy's dark room, that he was in the most unique position anyone in Teufort has ever had the fortune of being in. Spy was unmasked; the only thing that kept his identity a secret was the darkness around them. All he had to do was turn on the light and he'd have the ultimate advantage.

Now all he had to do was figure out where the light was.

Hidden glared at the Sniper with disapproval and, of course, the traditional disdain cats always have. It was a graceful regality that marked them as far above regular humans, but this one seemed to have a particular lack of fondness for the Australian. His yellow eyes were the only thing the man could see in the darkness- they reflected the almost insignificant light that came from beneath the door frame and from the window in the hallway.

How Spy would react was a whole different matter. The Sniper had next to no idea what the BLU would do; he would definitely attempt to kill him and probably succeed, but there were far worse things than killing that could be done with his knife. There was no doubt that he would wake up if Sniper attempted to switch on the lights; and was that _really _a risk worth taking?

Fumbling around as quietly as he could, Sniper found his hands on the dresser. He quickly pocketed the glove… then the second one, just for the sake of having a complete pair for 'later on'… and, finally, the mask. Spy probably had a second one lying around, but it would certainly give him a little shake-up to see it gone.

Now the question was: dare he turn on the light? Spy would probably kill him as slowly as possibly, but a respawn would be the most direct way back to his own base. He couldn't stand to let this chance pass… but, in a weird way, it almost felt like a line that shouldn't be crossed. This was Spy - Blu or Red, spies weren't supposed to exist as anything more than a shadowy figure, mysterious as they were bothersome, men that weren't supposed to truly be men, not like the rest of them. The man beneath the mask wasn't supposed to be seen.

Silently, Sniper drew his bushwacka from the inside of his vest, and backed slowly towards the door. He'd only have a second once the door was open to get away - the light from the hallway would undoubtedly wake the other man. If he had to defend, then he'd defend and send Spy to his own respawn. But it just felt… wrong.

Probably because he was breaking into another man's room to steal his personal articles for personal 'reasons'.

"Mrooowwww…." Hidden let out a low meow, following it with a growl that would make any animal afraid, and topped it with a vicious hiss. Evidently, the cat couldn't make up its mind whether it liked the Sniper, thought him beneath its notice, or hated him.

Either way Spy still woke.

"Hidden, hush up already," Spy muttered irritably, followed by a yawn. The cat refused, snarling in the enemy's direction, every hair bristling. There was a rustle of movement- the Sniper thought Spy was sitting up, but he wasn't certain. "Alright, alright- what is- _ow!" _There was a flash of gleaming white fangs, catching the light; and Spy gave a curse, swearing quietly under his breath. "Hidden, what is the matter with you? You _bit _me, you little bastard! The only time you acted like this before was when those Americans stormed Jerome's hou-"

Spy trailed off. The Sniper heard a soft rustle of cloth and the metallic clicks that signaled the Spy's signature knife being flicked into a blade.

"Whoever the hell is in here," He said, voice clear, "You'll be damned lucky if you're alive after what I'm going to do to you."

Sniper licked his lips, willing his breath not to sound wheezy when he spoke.

"If y'waont me to leave the loight off, you'll stay puht," he replied calmly. Ah, piss… his accent was thick with allergies. Damn cat… "Welcome back, Spoi."

"Bushman," There was no disguising the hate in his voice; it was the most prominent thing in his words, it was deep and utter loathing. "Why the _hell _are you in my room?" His voice flickered nervously. "What have you seen? What have you _done?"_

"Wot… n'enemy cahn't say 'llo?"

Sniper drawled out, making a face in the dark as he fought hard, resisting the urge to sneeze.

"Ah'v seen yer caht… buh pets aren't egg-zactly bahn'd, so ahm pretty sure yer safe. Hidden, too."

"You know his _name!?_" Spy demanded. Sniper had heard him when he sounded angry before, but it was _nothing _compared to this. He was beyond furious. "How _long _have you been in here?"

Judging by his voice, the only thing keeping him from attempting to murder the Sniper as slowly and painfully as humanly possible was the possibility that the Sniper would expose his face; which seemed a lot more flimsy now that he could hear just how spitting mad the spook was.

"Whell, ah didn' until now," Sniper bluffed. Five steps; he was just five steps away from the door. If he could just make it to the door, he could get out. Spy wouldn't raise the alarm if he was without his mask - he wouldn't take that risk, would he?

…_would_ he?

"Wot kinda yobbo names a caht 'Hidden'?" he continued, hoping to keep Spy distracted as he slowly backed away towards the door. "S'stupid name."

He gave a quiet little breath. "_Je cet regrette_…" He muttered. "Sniper. Stay here." His voice was threatening and low. "I don't care if you see what I look like, you're not leaving this room until we've had a proper discussion."

He didn't know what was more terrifying: the fact that Spy wanted to have a proper discussion or that it was important enough for the other man not to care that he saw him for who he really was underneath his mask.

"Achtul… actful…"

Oh, _strewth_, not _now_!

"Actually, ah'v got ta' go," Sniper replied, managing to suppress the sneeze. "Real bahd. Really gotta go now. Ah'll let yew settle'n fer th' night. See yah t'morrow instead, al'roight, Spoi?"

"No." Spy's voice was cold. "Now that you've seen this, it's either speak with me now or come with me to outside of Respawn's range, where I will proceed to torture you to death. Then once I am done with that, I will eviscerate you, fly to Australia, and strangle your parents with your intestines."

His voice was calm, but just barely so. It quivered with anger, bordering on insanity.

Sniper's hand closed on the doorknob, but he didn't dare turn it. The man meant business. There was no room in that tone; the man meant every word in his threat.

"…y'gonna turn on ah light, then?" he asked quietly. "Ah know y'dun got yer mask on, Spoi. So, r'we gonna tawk in the dark? Or are weh- ah- ahh- "

He couldn't hold it back this time; Sniper let out a loud, head-rattling sneeze, snorted back the mucus, and wiped his nose against the back of his own glove. Ugh. Fantastic… his eyes were itching like crazy and he was about to claw them out himself. Bloody strewth, that cat had to go.

"Charming." Spy growled. "It doesn't matter, bushman, I don't care." There was a creak as he got up, and a quiet groan as he opened his closet door. Even in the darkness, he knew his way around the room. There was the rustling and moving of fabric. "Go on, turn on the lights, Mundy. It doesn't matter to me, you're going to die or swear secrecy already."

He paused for a moment. "Are you allergic, bushman?" He asked, ceasing in his movement.

"Naw," Sniper replied sarcastically… well, as sarcastically as his stuffed-up accent would allow. "Wot gave yew tha' id'eer?"

Even with Spy's allowance and permission, Sniper still didn't turn the light on. It wasn't just a matter of it being wrong, it was a matter of professional courtesy; he had the man dead to rights already. He'd just wait to use it to his advantage.

"Good. I'd say that's a punishment you brought on yourself." After a few minutes of tense silence the Spy slid the closet shut. The Sniper heard a murmur of surprise and slight scratch of fingers on wood. The dresser.

"Would you care to answer a couple questions first?" He asked, voice making it clear that he should treat that as a rhetorical question. "I'm tired and someone happened to wake me up, so I would be grateful if you were to answer me without my intervention. First question being, why did you steal my gloves? I can understand why you would steal my mask, but why my gloves?"

He sat down heavily on the bed, quickly joined by his cat, which started purring.

"Erm…"

Sniper snuffled and fought the urge to sneeze again. That damn cat… Hidden was _purring_, the spiteful beast, it _knew_ he was suffering and was enjoying it.

"…jus' suppose ah was feelin' spit'ful," he lied. "Any chance ta' take th' piss outta yah, spoi, 'member? Been gone too loh'g… fer'gut wha's like, gittin' kno'k down ah peg, hey?"

Spy gave a snort that did not sound amused. "I can barely understand you." He grumbled. "And I was gone for a month for a reason, bushman, I had work to do. If you'd like to see the product of some of my work, go ahead and flick on the lights."

He was openly challenging the Sniper now, and while not a command, he was applying pressure.

Spy crossed his legs, perching the ankle of his right leg on the knee of his left; even though the Sniper couldn't see it, Spy'd adopted doing so as a casual habit. "Would you care to guess how old the cat is, bushman? Don't worry, this relates to something we'll talk about later."

"Ahm comf'table," Sniper replied briefly, feeling the doorknob dig into the small of his back.

The cat? Why did he care about the stupid cat's age?! He could barely stand being in the same room with it!

…Spy had said grand… grand something. Grand pier? Whatever, grand meant old.

"Uh… ah dunno… twelve? Fer'teen?" he guessed

"Twenty three. Older than Scout." Spy said curtly. "And would you care to guess how many people I've killed for merely knowing about his existence in the twenty three years I've owned him?"

Sniper was silent as seconds stretched into minutes, dragging on and stretching out between them.

"…wun less th'n meh?"

His words would have had a lot more of a solemn impact if he didn't punctuate it with another teeth-shaking sneeze.

"STREWTH! D'ah bluddy caht!" Sniper coughed and wheezed, choking up another draw of mucus from the back of his throat. "Luk, spoi, ah wun't sah ah bluddy thin'… ah swe'r… buh… ah cahn't… stan' im…"

"You sound ridiculous." He snorted. He gave a little sigh. "I just wanted to rest after killing a man over this cat, but I can't even do that. We'll continue our discussion outside."

He gave a- it could only be described as a giggle- a few moments afterwards. "The mighty Australian, toppled by an ancient tomcat who can barely stand for longer than a few minutes without falling over. That's wonderful."

Sniper glowered at the glowing eyes in the dark. He could remember very easily just how hard Spy had found it to breath when Sniper had his arm across the other man's throat…

But this wasn't the time to remind him. He could barely breath or see at this point; now was the time to make his way back to his own base.

Turning, Sniper eased the door open and made his way as quietly as he could back. He picked the tunnels, just to be careful - it was less of a chance of being caught when he started sneezing up a storm. Oh, yes, he'd remind Spy how hard it was to breathe next time they spoke… or went head to head… whichever came first.

nterestingly enough, both occurred at the same time.

"Take these an' keep 'em, spook!" Sniper snarled, shoving Spy hard against the wall in the middle of battle. One hand was tight around the other man's throat; the other hand held the stolen gloves clutched tight in his fist, shaking them in the other man's face. "Nasty things are covered in cat hair!"

Spy offered a grin, resisting the impulse to tell the bushman _he _was the one who'd stolen them; it wasn't his fault.

"If you'd like to trade for a better pair," Spy attempted to wheeze, "You're going to have to be- _glrrkkk!- _a little more diplomatic." His fingers tightened on his own blade and he sent it in an arc across the Australian's stomach- not as deep as it could've been or should've been. Holding back, just a little.

"I don't even- _hhh_- See what you wanted them for."

Sniper's face burned red with pain and embarrassment. The slice across his stomach didn't do more than cut a gash into his shirt and scratch his belly up a little, but he'd much rather blame the flush on the pain than the reason he had the other man's gloves in the first place.

"Keep yer bloody poofter wear," he growled, throwing the gloves to the ground in front of Spy to cover up his stumble as he backed off. "Bet yer whole wardrobe's been tainted anyways. Damn creature."

"Call him a creature again, Sniper, see what happens." Spy's teasing, lilting voice dropped into a steely, vicious tone. His smile was also abandoned in favor of an angry, bitter sneer. He kneeled and pocketed the gloves, flicking the blade in his fingers expertly.

All of the lightheartedness had vanished even faster than a cloaking Spy. He scowled at the Sniper, his gray-blue eyes twinkling coldly, and waited for the man's next move.

"You'd rather I'd call it by its name out here, Spy?" Sniper challenged back. "Y'want that word gettin' 'round?"

He told himself that he was causing so much trouble because he was bored. It wasn't about the gloves, it wasn't about the damned animal, it was just something to do since he was bored out of his mind on support duty.

"I thought you told me y'wanted things ta' stay all 'hush hush', but if y'want me ta' shout its name fer everyone ta' hear…"

Sniper shrugged lightly; it wasn't his pet.

Spy gave a little, bitter snarl and drew back. "That," He said stiffly, "Will not be necessary. I would be very grateful if you were to not share this with anyone."

All of his aggression slowly drained away. He dug around in his jacket pocket for a second, perching a cigarette in his lips and lighting it. He pocketed the lighter but didn't do the same with his disguise kit. Instead, his form rippled slightly and there was a slight cloud that surrounded him. Pinkish-red hues bloomed from his blue suit until he looked exactly like the RED Spy.

He pocketed the disguise kit and looked at the Sniper questioningly. Asking if he was going to kill him or not.

Sniper studied the other man for a long moment. Spy looked far too comfortable for his tastes. Alright, if Spy wasn't about to attack him, then he supposed he would hold off too, at least for the moment.

The Spy had mentioned before that his oldies were gone… perhaps this cat - as obnoxious of an animal it was - was all he had left. He could respect that. Animals could be part of the family; he very easily remembered how hard it had been when his working dog had died, it had been like loosing a brother. But why was Spy keeping it a secret? It wasn't as if pets were banned - Medic bred birds and, heck, even Soldier kept digging up those weird, trash eating annoyances from time to time. So why all the secrecy?

Ah, who cared. He had something over the Spy, that was good enough.

"So, wot? Are you gonna have a whinge, then?" Sniper asked, leaning up against the far wall to watch the other man carefully.

Spy sniffed disdainfully. "No, bushman. I'm going to go off and do my job. Unlike you, who evidently doesn't even need to. When was the last time you shot someone during one of these battles? I haven't seen you do it yet- I know patience is part of the job, Sniper, but even we get bored. To my knowledge, you're just sitting up here for hours with only yourself for company. What do you _do _up here?"

"I make the cut lunch for Heavy," Sniper snapped back. He could feel his ears burn red and he readjusted his hat to hide them better. "Wot do you think I do, wanker? I watch over my team, I… I'm th' bloody support."

Which meant he should probably draw his kukri and knife the Spy already, despite the nice distraction from his otherwise dull day.

"I noticed." He grumbled. "Shouldn't the support be, I don't know, _supporting? _You're not doing anything up here." His voice took on scathing tone. "You're not even killing me."

"Oh, sorry there, mate. I didn't realize you missed it so much," Sniper chuckled, brushing his vest out of the way with the back of his hand as he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his kukri; he didn't draw it yet, he just rested his hand there.

Something occurred to him.

"Unless that supposed ta' be one of those 'metaphors'… it bein' m'knife 'n all…"

Spy's face shifted smoothly into a teasing smile. "Do you _want _it to be, bushman?"

"Jus' trying to decide how fast or how slow ta' kill ya, mate," Sniper replied, growling the last word. "Believe me, I'm not a poofter like you. Plenty of shelias that can back me up on that. Even another two y'missed out on missing durin' last week's leave."

Yeah, that'd show the spook… he didn't have a single problem picking up a gal when they went into town for a drinking night. He almost missed the Spy while the other was gone, if only for the reason to rub the personal victory in the other's face.

"Pleasure shouldn't get in the way of business, bushman." Spy's voice was slightly miffed. "I don't regret leaving. There are sometimes when murder can be just as pleasurable as being with a woman; although losing a month's pay was a little…" - -He searched for the right word- "Unfortunate."

Sniper grinned. Oh, the other man wasn't fooling him for a second. What had that been in his tone? Annoyance? Hurt? Jealousy? Even though he wasn't interested back, it was still pretty nice to know his barb had stung.

"I'm just sayin', spook… plenty of shelias are interested in hearing 'bout th' great Down Under. So, if yer fantasy-ing about me and m'knife - quit it. Sometimes, a knife is jus' a knife… even when it's more impressive than that dinky bit you've got there."

He pulled the kukri free and gave it a little twist, but was careful to keep the light from glinting off its steel. Just because he was bored, that didn't mean he wanted to give away his position in favor of a sniping match with his Blu counterpart.

"Great?" Spy complained. "The only thing great about it was how _hot _it was. Only God should be allowed to know what I had to wear just to not boil alive; it would be a nightmare for anyone not to see me looking as impeccably stylish as I normally do." He shuddered, and the Sniper realized he was hilariously sincere. "Never again."

He flicked out his own blade, twirling it expertly and grinning down at it, before looking back up at the Australian. "Is this turning into a dick measuring contest, Sniper? I'm not so sure it's all about length." He blinked lazily and when he opened them again he kept them half-closed.

"It's how you use it that counts, bushman." He said lightly. He stretched, yawned, and sat down, propping his back up against a wall. He adjusted his watch and vanished. "If you aren't going to kill me," He said, voice oddly muffled, "Then I'm going to catch up on the sleep I should've had."

Was… was the man… going to go to _sleep_?

Sniper covered the distance in two quick strides and lunged, plunging the machete into the wall where the other man's head used to be. He knelt down, driving his knee into Spy's stomach with the leftover momentum.

"This isn't yer base, Spy, an' we aren't friends," he growled. If this French bastard thought that, just because they shared a conversation or two, he was to be ignored and disrespected, then he'd remind him just how wrong he was.

Spy gave an internal groan. Was the bushman ever going to cease forcing the air from his lungs? It was annoying, it hurt, and it was barely even damaging for longer than a few moments. His cloaking flickered at the Sniper's blow.

"Did I ever say we were?" He wheezed. "If you'd like, bushman, I could just get up and go around killing your teammates rather than resting here. Or maybe go after your intelligence."

"Shouldn't feel this cozy here, spook," Sniper growled, pulling his kukri free from the wall. "Think because a man like yah fancies after— after a bit of good yabber, I'm gonna indulge yer time here?"

He jabbed the kukri down, just barely missing slicing into Spy's side, and pinned the man's suit to the wood.

"We each have our own secrets an', fine, that means we each have somethin' ta' destroy the other with if we have ta'… but roight here, roight now, we are in th' middle of the war, an' yer makin' snippy lil' jokes. Why'd you even come back if all yer gonna do is make jokes outta this?"

"Because I need a job." He said loftily. "Killing is fun, and here I can do it all I want; I also need money and I'm getting _paid_ for doing what I love doing. Anywhere else would've given us all the chair six years ago. And _that _was a perfectly good suit you ruined, thanks."

He stared up at the Sniper, eyes cool and arms folded; jaw clenched challengingly. "I'm not attempting to kill you because I'm afraid, Mundy. So loathsomely afraid. I'm making my jokes and biding my time because I want to keep you busy, keep you distracted. Make sure no one else speaks to you. Because guess what? You so much as speaking that cat's name to the wrong person could offer the Administrator total control over me. Do you _understand _what that's like? You, my _enemy_, are literally holding the _only thing _that could be used to blackmail me. And guess what? I can't do anything about it. I can't kill you permanently to shut you up like countless other men because that would mean I would get the axe, too. And then who gets Hidden?"

"…I… er…"

Sniper wasn't sure what to say. He stared back at the other man beneath him with an open look of surprise.

"Oh."

Backing off, he quickly covered up his surprise with an impassive, professional expression.

"Well, like I'd ever want to talk about your stupid cat to anyone. It's not exactly a real conversation piece, y'know," he replied, scratching his fingers along the back of his neck in an idle gesture. "Sides, what am I suppose to say? 'Oh, the bloody yobbo's got himself a dander-puff an' I'm allergic to it'? Not exactly the sort of thing y'whinge over a pitcher about."

He glanced back down at the Blu Spy.

"…y'know where my oldies are, I know about yer friend. Neither of us talks about either… s'fair trade to me. Thought you'd a'ready figure that out."

"Except if I'm dead mine can't look after himself," He muttered. He pulled out the Sniper's kukri and tossed it aside, getting up.

"I'm going to go sap your Engineer's sentry, if you don't mind. If I can manage it, I'll even try to capture. Also- if you stand from this angle here, you'll be exposed to more fire but you'll be able to take out our Sniper." He gave a little smile, wave, and cloaked.

"Spy, get back— "

Gritting his teeth and growling softly with frustration, Sniper made a grab for the other man, but felt only air. Whether he was actually gone or just side-stepped was an unknown, but he wasn't going to ask questions now; he took up his rifle, spun, and lined up his shot.

True to his word, there the Blu Spy's teammate was, as easy to hit as if he was was blue. The other Sniper managed to get off a shot, but it missed.

His didn't.

Sniper shouldered his rifle, grabbed his kukri, and hoofed it out of there, on his way to another of his nest boxes. Now, why would Spy have given him that tip? It didn't do the Blu's much good to be without their own support…

He thanked the Blu Spy by shooting him in the middle of capturing their point. There was a little twinge of guilt there, but he moved past it; they weren't friends after all.

Close enemies, maybe, but not friends.

…maybe it'd prompt Spy to find him again when he respawned, if only to argue about his lack of generosity.

Several dozen minutes passed- their Spy had long since respawned and was in the act of was ghosting around, playing the proper spook. The Sniper'd see him here or there, only just a flicker of shadow, before he'd uncloak, stab, then recloak, then dance away from the line of fire. Swiftly and efficiently killing, occasionally giving the Sniper a wink or a wave after he'd withdrawn the knife; but keeping away from the man, never once accepting him as a threat or target. He was mainly harassing RED's Heavy and Medic, but sometimes targeting the Engineer.

His assistance was all that his team needed to push forward. They'd been on a week-long losing streak previously and that was _shattered _now that Spy was actually putting in effort.

There were three minutes left on the clock- everyone on RED team but the Sniper, Soldier, and Pyro in Respawn as the enemy team captured the last point. Things were very, very bad; almost their entire team was gathered on the last point, and their victory was almost guaranteed.

The Sniper was aware of their Spy decloaking; there was a loud noise that was almost beneath him. The Spy decloaked in a sitting position in front of him, head bowed low so he didn't touch the barrel of the sniper rifle. "You're going to lose," He observed.

Sniper grit his teeth, tempted to bring his gun up so he could strike the Blu Spy in the head with the butt of it. They had been doing well enough before; did Spy really make such a difference to his team that he could turn the tide so strongly?

"I think I like it better when you were gone," he finally grumbled, lowering the barrel of his gun to rest lightly across the top of Spy's head. It was a rare gesture of defeat on his part, but a gesture of defeat nonetheless.

"Oh. That's boring." Spy said. "Just giving up? Like that? No stabbing me? No fighting at all?" He looked almost disappointed. "I haven't been bothering you this entire match except for the beginning, and _this _is my thanks?" He frowned. "Why don't you go and find someplace to hide? You've got maybe ten seconds before they finish capturing and humiliation round begins."

"What am I gonna do, spook? Go climb a tree?" Sniper quipped rhetorically.

He could knife the Spy; he could kill him, hope to send him to respawn before the end of the match, maybe spare himself in the round. He could even risk committing suicide, send himself to respawn, take the cowards way out of the situation… but he hated that option. He had lent lousy support to his team, unable to save his team mates from their knifed fates - that was the truth of the matter.

He had failed his team; he'd take his punishment.

"…why would it bother me, that you haven't bothered me?" Sniper asked dully, killing time before the inevitable. "You think I like yer prissy arse traipsing around here, bothering me?"

"Probably not," Spy admitted. He tilted his head slightly, waiting a moment. There was a quiet ping, even audible from this distance, and the color of the control point adopted a sky-blue rather than pinkish red. A slow smile spread over Spy's face- he lightly moved the Australian's rifle aside and stood up. The Australian should start to feel the affects of the humiliation round- the fatigue that made it next to impossible to run away or fight.

"I win, bushman." He said simply. "And I am going to enjoy what I've won." The smile grew slightly more unsettling as he leaned just a little bit closer, until he was nearly nose-to-nose with him; gray eyes amused and flickering with barely concealed excitement.

A heavy sense of fatigue settled over Sniper, joining with his already-defeating sense of failure. This was his punishment, as short as it was, and he'd accept it all. That didn't mean he would face it head-on, however; gritting his teeth, Sniper set his rifle to the side, and braced his hands against his knees. He didn't lift his eyes to look at his enemy as he felt Spy press in uncomfortably close.

"…jus' get on with it, Spook," he muttered. Whatever pain the other man was going to dish out, he could take it.

A smooth, gloved finger traced the Sniper's jaw lightly, tilting his head up forcibly. Spy's chest pressed against the bushman's own now and his arm curled loosely around his waist, while the other held up the Sniper's head.

Spy's lips met Sniper's.

Soft, although he'd expected as much. Spy wasn't trying to make this rough on the Sniper; but the instant he decided he wanted out of this Spy was going to keep him pinned there. To reinforce this, his hand abandoned the Sniper's jaw and slid through his hair, finding a handhold beneath his hat.

Sniper's eyes went wide; not with surprise, but uncertainty. Part of him, a quiet part deep down inside, had expected this, expected Spy to take advantage of the humiliation round, to take advantage of him being so…

Well, that didn't mean he was going to go quietly along with it.

He shut his eyes tight, playing along for a moment. With his eyes closed, it was easy enough to pretend that this wasn't his enemy's lips he was feeling on his. It was almost… no, he was not about to think that. He might have a lot of questionable thoughts, but that was _not_ one he was about to entertain. Sniper willed his mind to be silent and blank as he opened his mouth to the other's kiss.

Right before he bit down hard enough on Spy's bottom lip to taste blood.

Spy gave a tiny growl of pain and surprise. His chest was pressed so close to the Sniper's that he could could practically feel it. The Frenchman didn't attempt to stop the Sniper, too wrapped up in his own imaginings.

At this point, Spy was so delighted that the Sniper could've ripped his bottom lip off and he wouldn't have minded. He had the Australian all to himself; to do _anything _with, and even if he protested, he would be under the fatiguing effects until he either left their current battleground or died. That last one was not happening; there was nothing for him to commit suicide with and Spy sure as hell wasn't going to let him escape any time either. He patiently waited for the bushman withdraw his teeth. He could wait all damn day if he had to; Sniper wasn't going to ruin this for him.

"Git offa me, you bloody poofter," Sniper growled as he released the other man's bottom lip and turned his head away. He spat at the ground, pleased to find he had aimed well enough to have sullied one of Spy's shoes. "Jus' because you don't weight piss, that doesn't mean you can cozy on up on me like this."

"Oh yes?" Spy murmured. His voice had shifted somewhat- quiet and lustful. "You think you can stop me, bushman?"

He pulled him a little closer and lightly bit the side of the Sniper's neck. He didn't bite deeply or hard, but enough to hurt a little. The fingers in his hair curled, lightly pulling, and his other fingers tightened around the Sniper's waist. The Australian could feel his blood on the side of his neck from where it beaded on the Spy's bottom lip- oddly warm.

"You can barely move," He growled into his neck, a savagery present that the Sniper had never heard before. "You _cannot _stop me."

"I'll kill you."

The threat was just as weak as he was; they both knew there wasn't a thing he could do about it. That didn't mean he wouldn't try. Sniper reached down, wrapping his fingers around the other's arm, trying to pull the hand away from his waist. The tug he gave was laughable. He shifted beneath Spy, stretching out his legs, testing if he could even stand, but the muscles were languid and heavy.

Aw, strewth, he was pathetic; if that was the best he could do, then he was just pathetic.

"Get yer teeth out of my neck, spook, or I'll turn you into chowder, I swear I will."

The Spy bit down a lot more forcibly; this bite would definitely leave a mark. His tongue lapped at the harder bite slowly and he repeated the action, all while giving strange, excited little growls. He ignored the Sniper's threat entirely along with his actions, but gave pause when he commanded him to stop biting.

His mouth moved to lightly nibble his earlobe, inspiring a strange, shivery sensation that jolted through the Australian. His fingers relaxed somewhat and he drew back, alternating between ear and neck; leaving deep bites that trailed from just beneath his jaw to almost all the way to his collarbone, pausing to lick the wounds or suckle his ear lightly.

All while continuing to give off appreciative rumbles.

Against his will, Sniper felt himself reacting to Spy's advances. The bites, the growls, the tugs; it was all unfair. His body jerked with little spasms, pain turning into pleasure far easier than he'd prefer. The bastard knew just what to do to turn his body against himself and it just… wasn't…

"Stop, stoppit," he heard himself say, his accent rich with a deep, chesty sound as he spoke. Sniper liked to think of himself as a proud man, a professional man, one who wouldn't be kowtowed into bending to another person's will… but even he would give an inch if it'll save him the rest of the foot. Or, in this case, he'd kiss the other man to save himself from other, far worse forms of embarrassment. "Ah'll kiss yeh back, jus' stop."

Spy's bites abruptly ceased, and a throaty purr bubbled from his throat. He gave a final lick and forced the Sniper into a kiss- his fingers tightening again in the Sniper's hair, lips soft and warm- but he wasn't being gentle now. Every so often he'd slip his mouth down a little and give a tiny bite to the Sniper's lower lip, just barely enough to hurt and certainly enough to keep things a little more interesting.

The Australian could also taste Spy's blood from where it surfaced on his lower lip- a coppery, metallic taste, with a slight hint of salt.

The pleased sound that came from Spy at his offer almost scared Sniper; the other man wasn't just doing this to make him uncomfortable, he was doing it for his own pleasures. Oh, strewth… the man wasn't playing, _he actually meant all of this_.

Sniper closed his eyes at the forced kiss, trying to will his end. There was no separating himself from this; he winced at the nips, flinched as he felt the other's tongue slide over his, the taste of both of them mixing together in his mouth turned his stomach… but he couldn't help but lean into those nips and growl back as he felt the other's probing tongue. Blood and sweat, those were common tastes for his palate, almost as familiar as a childhood meal.

He shifted, pushing his chest back against Spy's, the only place he could go to get away from the squeezing grip around his waist.

Spy broke the kiss for breath, gazing into the Sniper's eyes and giving little huffs for air. He took the brief, two-second long silence as permission to keep going. He charged right back in at full speed, tongue furiously mangling with the Sniper's. Spy felt a surge of desire- adrenaline was coursing through his body and for one of the few times in his entire life he felt consumed by lust. He hadn't had a kiss like this in _years; _he didn't have anyone to kiss like this before.

He'd always _wanted _to do something like this to the Sniper, the damned bushman… He had rugged charm, a wonderful body, and even though Spy would kill himself before admitting it, he even found himself attracted to the bushman's accent. He could sense the Sniper's unease and knew the man didn't share the same bursting enthusiasm, and a little niggling voice in the back of his mind warned him that he would have to stop before the Sniper got too uncomfortable.

He ignored it for now. There would be time for guilt later.

For those two seconds, all Sniper could do was stare back and breathe. His neck ached in the worst and most wonderful way, each bite mark making itself painfully known with every breath he strove for. He wanted so badly to say something smart, to tell the Blu Spy to piss off, to threaten him and his cat and everything he ever thought twice about… but he couldn't. All he could do was stare back and breathe.

So when he finally opened his mouth to say something - _anything_ - it was just to make a noise of alarm as Spy's mouth crashed back against his. Teeth clacked together, accidental bites exchanged, and Sniper choked on his complaint. Strewth, there wasn't a man under that mask, there was an animal!

Sniper managed to get both hands up, gripping the front of the blue suit tight, trying to push him away. But there was no strength in his arms and he wouldn't be surprised if the other thought it was a gesture to show he was enjoying himself.

As if he ever could.

The man was nothing more than a farce, pretending he was something better than the rest of them, wearing those stupid suits, smoking those dainty things that smelled like cloves and spices, hiding behind his pretenses and that damned mask…

And gloves; he couldn't forget those gloves, not when they were wrapped so tight in his hair and clutched around his waist, the universe's answering punishment for the countless pleasure he got out of that one, stolen glove.

Spy's lips came away after what seemed like an eternity. "B-bushman," He said breathlessly, panting quietly into the Sniper's ear. He gave a tiny, almost insignificant noise of desire and his head bent. His teeth closed gingerly around Sniper's neck. Spy's aggressive activities eased somewhat, but his furious lust was still boiling beneath the surface. The hand on Sniper's head slowly released the shock of hair it had been so firmly holding onto to slide down to Sniper's waist, resting comfortably along with his other arm.

The pressure relaxed somewhat as his arms eased. He still gave little growls as he lightly nibbled along Sniper's neck, but they were also quieted in comparison to the noises he'd been giving off before. He'd understood Sniper's silent plead to stop, but he couldn't, not all the way, he was enjoying himself too much. He selfishly indulged even at the Sniper's protests, and guilt came back to squirm in his stomach.

"Mundy…"

Sniper barely existed outside of his body. His thoughts were so turned inwards - focusing on how loud his own breathing sounded, how warm those little puffs of air felt against his skin, how good those teeth felt like the answer to a well-needed itch, how badly he wanted to ignore those shivery bolts of lightning that raced through his body and even how he wanted them to push on just as badly as he wanted to hate them - that he almost didn't hear Spy speak.

Almost.

"No." Sniper pushed hard, summoning what little strength he could gather to propel himself forward, and up came his head, fast as a snake, his teeth biting hard into the other man's cheek. "N-no, you do NOT get to call m'name."

Spy gave a whimper of pain that trailed off into a groan and attempted to flinch away from the Sniper's neck. Ow. Ow. That _hurt._ If the bushman kept biting him at every chance he got, all of his face would be blood-soaked in no time.

"Alright," He said agreeably, still attempting to squirm free. His speech was somewhat broken, due to the teeth embedded in his mask and skin, and his voice was slightly breathless even after the time he'd had to recover. "Not using your name, not using your name, let _go."_As an afterthought, he added, "Please."

Holding on for an extra moment longer than he really had the strength for, Sniper let go and slumped back on his crate. His mouth was dry with the taste of wool and sweat; add that to the oppressive heat of the boxy room and he was finding it hard to breathe.

"…yew dun deserve ta use m'name…" he croaked, panting hard.

Sniper worked his mouth for a moment, running his tongue along his cracked, bitten, and bloodied lips. Ah, strewth, that stung… he knew it would be swollen later on.

Still, he couldn't help but wear a triumphant smirk at the corner of his lips; he might be in a bad spot, but he still had some measure of control over the other man. He had made Spy stop. He had made Spy plead. He was in control here, no matter what the other man thought, humiliation round and its effects be damned.

Spy stood back from the Sniper, stepping back so he was at the opposite corner of the room. He was _certain_ he'd gone too far. His stomach churned anxiously, wondering what the bushman would do now- He could feel himself sweating and had to force down the queasiness that was building in his stomach.

Spy had persisted in taking what he wanted from the Australian even after he'd given a clear lack of consent. He'd never been this anxious after a kiss before, even after his first. Because he knew that his first girlfriend couldn't reveal his only weakness to the Administrator or torture him until he wished he was dead.

"Yes, I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Spy spoke hurriedly. He sounded genuinely upset; now that his brain had taken control rather than his libido, exactly how bad of an idea kissing the Sniper against his will had been was finally clear. "I'm sorry, bushman, I'm sorry- I couldn't…" _ Control myself. Couldn't stop._

He took a tiny, shaky breath, intending to steady himself. "I'm sorry, bushman."

Leaning hard to one side, his arms braced against his knees to help hold himself up, Sniper studied the other man for a moment.

Alright.

Alright, he was in control. This was not a situation that he couldn't handle. He was a professional; he knew how to endure… endure whatever the hell this was.

"You really sorry, spook?" he asked after a moment. "You're really sorry, you come back over here an' apologize proper ta' me."

Confusion flickered over his face for a moment. He wasn't expecting… Well, he hadn't been expecting much. Maybe cold silence, or a brief, dismissive command to go away. He had a couple seconds of hesitation, then took cautious steps over to the Sniper.

"If yer sorry, get yer arse over here," Sniper repeated, growling the words this time. His tired eyes followed the other man as Spy inched over, step by step, until Spy was standing right in front of him. Even lifting his head took some measure of effort, but Sniper managed it.

"You afraid I'm gonna bite you again?" he taunted, managing a smile as he looked up at his previously lustful enemy. "Come on, spook. On yer knees a'ready, it's gettin' hard ta' keep this up… gonna get a crick in m'neck soon."

Spy obeyed like a well-trained dog. Dropping to his knees without even the slightest hesitation, keeping his head slightly bowed and his eyes trained on the floor. He didn't speak a word; he owed the Sniper for ignoring his protests, for stealing the shred of dignity that the man actually had left.

And until Spy thought his debt was repaid, he was going to stay silent, courteous, and obedient.

Oh, that was good. That was _very_ good. Spy wasn't just an animal underneath that secretive mask and gentlemanly suit; he was an obedient animal. Sniper was certain he could use that to his advantage next time.

"Now, yer gonna apologize properly ta' me," Sniper said softly. Something in his chest hurt and not in the good way. He was having more and more trouble breathing in and keeping his breath. Whatever was wrong with him, it was starting to burn with a discomfort that almost complimented his post-battle exhaustion and dizziness. "You hear me, Spy? A good 'n proper apology…I want you to give me a nice kiss an' then take out yer pistol an' shoot me in th' head."

He gave a short, brief nod, blinking slowly. "I'm sorry for losing control. I'm sorry for hurting you." He said, voice clear and unwavering. "I'm sorry for not thinking as I acted." There was a quiver on the last word.

Whether it was genuine or not was uncertain. It _sounded _genuine, but the lines were just so odd coming from him it was hard to believe Spy actually said it.

The Sniper's second request would be harder to do. There were still the inner stirrings of lust in his chest like a beast struggling to claw its way out. Spy suppressed it as well as he could and rose back up on his knees. His adam's apple bobbed, made more noticeable by the mask. He hesitantly looked to the bushman for a good, solid thirty seconds before leaning forward.

Spy didn't embrace the Sniper. Perhaps worried he might lose control again. He kept himself collected and cool, keeping the kiss steady and slow. Almost shyly doing it. Either way- it didn't bring the lightning jolts or the high excitement- it was a slower, softer kind of pleasure. After a good amount of time he pulled away and stood back up.

He had just the briefest moment of hesitation. It felt so _wrong _to kill the bushman now, just after Spy'd wronged him then they'd shared a much more appropriate kiss. He withdrew the revolver from inside his suit and spun the cylinder, pressing the barrel to the Sniper's forehead- just above his brow. He lightly tapped the hat as he did it, pushing the brim away.

His hands didn't tremble. But he did look away as he pulled the trigger.

With his very last breath, Sniper had only one thing to say:

"Next time, spook."

And then he was gone. He wasn't just dead, it was beyond being dead; it wasn't simply not existing, but being so aware that he didn't exist, that he ached to exist once more. It was like being held underwater - the longer the awareness persisted, the more it hurt, until he was certain he would fade away into some dark, inky abyss. Rather than the cold, however, there finally came a warm sensation, pins and needles pushing up underneath his skin from the inside, which turned into a searing burn until he was certain he had gone to hell instead—

Sniper gasped his first breath and, achingly, sat up to look at the clock on the wall. Fifteen seconds; that was all respawn took, just fifteen seconds, but, as useful as it was, it hurt like nothing else ever could. He had to wonder if it was made that way on purpose, to punish them for their crime against the natural order of things.

Ah, strewth, he didn't want to think about things like that. He had his own, far more personal crimes to think about. Spy had given him more than he meant to - he had given him the ability to control him. The man had certainly meant every moment of it if his apology had been truthful enough. If those words were honest, then that didn't just mean that Spy lusted after him, it also meant that the man was eager enough to obey him.

Getting up with a tired grunt, Sniper wandered over to one of the mirrors, looking at himself. No bruises, no bites, no hickies… no sign that any of it had ever happened. But he knew a way to test that.

Oh, yes, he knew the way.

Two days later, he got his chance. A scheduled battle had put all eighteen mercenaries back on the battle field. It looked like it would be an all-day affair, keeping everyone good and busy. Sniper had taken up the offensive measure, keeping Spy in his cross-hairs, taking him out every time the man tried to mess with his team.

He wanted the Frenchman good and mad; he wanted him to come seek him out… because, if he was wrong about this, he wanted his own death to be quick.

The Sniper's own team was starting to notice how he kept his scope fixed firmly on the Spy. The Engineer offered grateful words when he rushed by, a large toolbox in tow. It just a quick "Thanks for takin' care of that Spy, partner," before rushing off back to his sentry nest and placing a teleporter exit down; but in most battles he never said anything to the Sniper at all. The Medic and Heavy, when they returned from Respawn, didn't say anything but gave him brief, thankful nods. The Spy was a menace to these three in particular; and since the Australian was actively forcing him to Respawn every time he appeared on the field, they no longer needed to worry.

The Spy was furious. The bushman was targeting him personally, attempting to be the biggest annoyance that he could. The thing that made him the angriest was that he didn't understand _why. _Were his apologies not good enough? Was he still mad about two days prior? Did he merely figure out that his best move was to go after the enemy Spy?

Spy was consumed by a wave of nausea after he first respawned. His stomach gave a protestant heave and he almost vomited; but he'd been doing this for six, almost seven, years and never vomited once, and he was _not _going to break the streak. He swallowed the hot, disgusting bile that attempted to slide out of his throat and waited a few moments until his stomach settled. Respawn's affects were different on everyone. The Spy and Scout had to attempt not to vomit, whereas the Medic and Heavy suffered brief, terrifying confusion; the Demo had to deal with what the world was like sober for once, because the respawn didn't carry over any alcohol in anyone's bloodstream, as well as injuries or any other wounds.

Spy shook off his thoughts and tweaked the knob on the Cloak and Dagger. He was going after the Sniper and he was going to _kill _him, God dammit. Spy'd managed only a couple kills; and if his count was right the bushman had twelve, all on the Spy. _Twelve._

He headed swiftly out of the Respawn Room for the bushman, annoyed beyond belief. He wanted to avoid the Australian, but now the only thought on his mind was vengeance. He headed swiftly through the battlefield, only pausing once and a while so his cloak didn't drain. He wanted the Australian to have no idea he was coming- best that way. He quietly stepped up the stairs and crept silently around the concrete buildings to find out where the bushman was hiding.

The Australian's exposed back was only a few feet away. Spy twirled his balisong, his lips twitching into a smile, and took a few more step forwards. He felt a shiver rush through him and anticipation rushed over him like a cold wave. One foot left to go… the Sniper had no idea…

He raised the knife and sent it plunging through the air, straight for the Sniper's back.

But Sniper was ready and waiting for the other man.

At the soft sound of expensive shoes on the old wood, he had very casually lowered his rifle, as if taking a moment to rest. When the world had gone silent behind him, he had very slowly reached beneath his vest, grabbing the handle of his kukri. Hearing the singing of the blade sliding through the air, Sniper exploded into action; throwing himself forward out of the way, he spun, took a knee, and brought the machete up to counter the balisong.

"…g'day, spook," he gave a chesty growl of greeting, narrowing his eyes at the other man, as if daring him to challenge him.

"Good day to you, bushman," The Frenchman spat back. _Damn him! _The Sniper was one step ahead yet again. He was uncertain whether he dared try to fight now; he'd lost the element of surprise while going up against the Sniper for the umpteenth time, and he was getting almost as annoyed by that as he was by dying so often.

Spy's face was obviously pointed to anger; brows drawn, lips drawn back furiously, nose wrinkling beneath the mask. He was mad, alright, definitely mad. But he was waiting for the Sniper's move.

Alright; alright, one chance, one shot to prove his theory right. Spy looked fit to be tied over his kill streak. The man could easily tell him to go to hell and then he'd be in for quite a fight.

"Put that toy away, Spy," Sniper commanded, his voice low and full of authority. He stood up, straightening his back to utilize his height to stand over the other man. Towering didn't necessarily mean a significant difference in height; it was more about the attitude. "I'm not in the mood ta' play around today."

There was a long, silent moment where the Sniper thought he wouldn't obey. The Spy stared at the Sniper, wondering if he was serious. And what did he _mean? _Not in the mood to play? Attempting to kill each other was a game to him?

Inwardly he squirmed, uncomfortable with putting away his weapon. A smaller portion of his thoughts reminded him that he owed the Sniper; or at least thought he did. And the way he was acting… Spy couldn't help but want to obey. He didn't exactly consider himself submissive, but in this case… Well, he would do any matter of degrading things if it meant he could have Sniper like he had him two days ago.

The Spy stood back to his full height, insisting to himself that the Sniper wasn't intimidating him. He was only doing this because he wanted to. He folded the knife with a couple of smooth, swift movements, and placed it inside his jacket.

Sniper grinned. Oh, he had the man dead to rights.

"Good bloke," he lightly praised. It only took three large strides for him step over the crate he had been using as a chair and to close the space between them. An arm came up, bracing against Spy's collarbone, driving him backwards until he had pinned the other man's back against the far wall. From here, they wouldn't be seen or scoped; from here, he could do as he pleased.

Sniper studied the other man for a moment, keeping all emotion out of his expression. Let the Spy wonder, guess, and worry. It'd only distance the power between them.

What the hell was Sniper doing? He kept his face expressionless while staring into Spy's, giving no clear indication of what he was going to do. Did he plan on killing Spy? Speaking to him? And, very, very unlikely, but Spy hoped, kiss him?

Well, two could play at that game. He hid his momentary confusion behind a calm, relaxed expression.

He realized from their position that they would be unobserved from anyone down below. The only way someone could see them now is if they purposely charged in, looking for the Sniper. He thought about pointing this out, but didn't.

It made his heart jump a little- if Sniper was going to kill him, he wouldn't have bothered hiding.

"You pleased with yer'self, spook?" Sniper asked, reaching up with his free hand to hold Spy's chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. He kept his voice low, not quite a growl, but deep and chesty. The other man had seemed to react well enough to it last time; he wondered how far he could go on that sound alone. "Prancing about, pissin' yer teammates off with yer constant trips to respawn?"

He slowly ran his thumb along the bottom of the man's lips, almost… thoughtful, maybe even a tender sort of gesture.

"You bloody fuckin' show pony."

"It's your fault," He protested weakly. "You're sending me to respawn, it's not like I want to spend my day in that empty void."

Spy was reacting, alright. He could consciously feel his heart rate now; skipping a beat and then starting to race. He could feel cold creeping into his hands and feet, almost numbing, and everywhere else started to feel warm, almost overheating. When Sniper's finger glided across his lips he couldn't resist a shiver.

He wanted to say something else to the Australian, some other form of protest. For God's sake, he was falling apart and the Sniper was hardly even doing anything. But he kept quiet, listening to the bushman's scolding. He'd heard them all before, almost exactly the same lines, but in the growling voice and spoken in such a harsh manner_… _Well, it would make any woman or man take heed.

Sniper's thumb traced the narrow curve of the other's lips until the calloused pad settled into place, rubbing into one corner of Spy's mouth.

"My fault? Sounds like the whinging of a loser to me," he taunted.

When Spy opened his mouth to argue, his thumb shifted, pressing down on the flat of Spy's tongue, grabbing the other man's jaw in a tight grip. Sniper gave a toothy grin, using his new hold to slowly move Spy's head side to side, giving him an unimpressed, but inspecting sort of look, as if he was searching for… something.

Spy gave a louder, angrier noise of protest. Uck. Who _knew _where the bushman's hand had been.

He wished Sniper would just get on with whatever he was doing- standing here was getting uncomfortable as he grew more excited. Tiny pangs of lust were urging him to make the first move and ignore Sniper's commands, but he would _not _make that mistake again.

He let the Sniper do what he wished, but his eyes were focused at the entryway. Glaring at the door frame with more annoyance than anger. He felt a tiny need to satisfy the bushman, and that was certainly hard to do when he was examining him like this. As though Spy were just a common object with a speck of dirt that needed to be cleaned.

He made another noise of protest, more like a whine this time.

Sniper gave Spy's head a light shake, pulling him in close until they were nose to nose.

"Th' matter? M'not interestin' enough fer you today?" He taunted, but dropped his voice into another chesty growl as he added, "You will look at me, spook."

The Spy's shoulders shifted uncomfortably. He considered disobeying just for the sake of it, but couldn't. Sniper was practically on top of him and Spy's body was almost consumed by lust. He _had _to listen. His gray eyes slowly trailed from the doorway to look into the Sniper's own.

This was _agonizing._ He was so _close _to the Sniper, their lips barely an inch apart. It took a scarily large amount of self control not to move himself the extra inch.

It was humiliating how much he was getting worked up over this- had it been from any other mercenary, including his own double, he would've stayed cool and collected, he was sure of it.

Holding Spy's gaze for a moment, Sniper leaned back just enough to give the man a good once over, purposefully taking his time. The man was squirming in his skin, eager and hungry, but behaving so well for him…

It was a surprisingly satisfying amount of power.

"You want it, Spy?" he growled, turning the other man's head off to the side so he could press his lips against a covered ear. "You want _me_? Is that why yer here?"

Sniper slipped his thumb free from the other man's mouth, freeing up Spy's tongue, but grabbed him hard around the jaw, pulling his face around forward for a rough, almost possessive kiss. He didn't enjoy it, of course; he was doing it to keep the other man unbalanced, that's all. Keep him guessing, see how far he could lead him on, figure out what he could make the other man do. Humiliate him.

"You're here because of me, and it has nothing to do with the kills or losses; admit it."

Spy gave a tiny groan into the bushman's kiss. He'd done it _willingly. _He'd actually kissed him, and Spy hadn't forced it. Spy responded to it with his own enthusiasm, giving off tiny, delighted noises like purrs in the back of his throat. Spy was beyond elated; what else would the Sniper do? How far would he go?

As soon as he broke it to speak, Spy was so lost in his own desperate lust he barely heard the bushman's words. His speech hardly penetrated the fevered, frantic haze that had begun to fill Spy's mind and body; but he was distantly aware of the sounds the Australian was making. It took him several seconds to sort through his memory and piece together exactly what the Sniper had said and process what it meant.

"Of course, bushman," Spy said quietly. His voice was slow and smooth, not matching his movements. It was a slow, seductive murmur that promised all sorts of fun activities; wherever or whatever his partner chose. "Only here for you."

He had him hooked.

Great. Good.

Now what?

Strewth… he hadn't thought this far out. No, wait, he did… he did, he could… ah, piss.

Backing off, Sniper held onto Spy's jaw to keep him steady while he put space between the two of them. It was the only thing keeping the other man pinned up against the wall - there was no choking hold, no towering body, no oppressive weight, just the tight grip on the other man's jawbone. Eventually, even that was released, Sniper's fingertips grazing in an almost affectionate gesture as he stepped back, putting his enemy out of reach.

Sniper slowly crossed the room, seating himself on a crate pushed up against the wall beside the window. From here, he had a good view of the door, but Spy wouldn't. The man would be exposed to both the door and the window when he moved closer, making him even more vulnerable than he already would be.

If; if he played along, it would make him all the more vulnerable than he already would be.

"You want it, you come an' get it," Sniper finally broke the silence that hung between them. He braced his hands against his knees, just like he had last time, but this time, he had his eyes on the Spy. "Get on yer knees, come over here, an' _beg_ me fer another."

"You've got to be kidding," Spy breathed. His pride demanded he not do anything so degrading. Begging the bushman for it? Go and _take _it, his pride told him. But he was desperate and he _wanted _it.

He wanted to whine in frustration, but the Sniper wasn't going to back down from his stance. Making complaining pointless and an added embarrassment.

Spy wasn't going to. He wasn't. He couldn't sink that low, he _couldn't, _the bushman would mock him mercilessly for it later.

Huh. Funny how he wound up on his knees in front of the bushman, giving whining pleas for another kiss.

Sniper couldn't believe it; the man actually did it. Never, in any of his fantasies of any sort, did he ever think that he would see his enemy on his knees in front of him, begging.

"You sound like a dog," he growled, reaching down to grab the front of the balaclava's fabric where it was tucked down beneath Spy's suit. "Is that what you are, spook? Not a show pony, but a bluey?"

Sniper gave the other a quick, rough kiss, just enough to fulfill the terms of his offer - to the letter, if not the spirit.

"Naw… y'can't be a bluey. They're workin' dogs. Look at you: you've never worked a day in your life," he taunted, giving Spy's head a light shove, pushing him down further, forcing him to look at the dusty wooden floor. "S'why you wear gloves, isn't it, poofter. Ta' hide yer unblemished hands. Smooth as a shelia's."

Spy gave a little snarl. Sniper had pushed it too far. Spy could stand insults… But saying that he didn't work? That he didn't do just as much as Sniper did, work just as hard? Spy wasn't any more of a blueblood than anyone else on BLU's payroll, no matter how much he liked thinking of it.

He had to work, lie, murder, cheat, and steal to be suited for a job in his preferred profession. He was the best there was at what he did because he _worked _for it. Just because he was smaller and weaker than the other men on BLU and suited for less brunt combat didn't mean he wouldn't have to physically struggle in his job. It was ugly, difficult work and even if he preferred doing it in style, at the end of the day he was still killing men and fighting alongside everyone else.

He refused to take these insults. He _refused._

Spy's arm wound around the Sniper's leg, and the Spy abruptly jerked back into a sitting position. Dragging the Sniper off of the crate and onto his back. He slammed one forearm down across the bushman's chest and flicked out his balisong in the other.

"How _dare _you."

Sniper choked out a noise of surprise, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Well, now, there it was; the Spy still had his teeth. Good to know.

"A'right, maybe you're a bluey aft'r all," he managed, still sounding a little winded. Clearing his throat, Sniper fixed the other man with a sharp look and a sarcastic smirk. "Y'certainly know how to bark an' whinge an' whine."

Spy dropped the knife. His fist slammed into the marksman's jaw hard enough for him to hear it creak- but he was aiming to disorient the Sniper rather than injure. He brought up the arm pinning the Sniper's chest and grabbed his vest's collar; the hand grasping the collar was quickly joined by the other. He jerked your head up before slamming it back down against the wood.

"Say I don't work again," He snarled. "Say it."

Ah, strewth, his jaw smarted! The bastard really clocked him good there. Sniper was certain he heard a sound when he felt the man's fist connect.

"You smoke— "

Of course, that could have just been his ears ringing. They were certainly ringing now.

" —an' you shag— "

Every slam of his head made stars dance in front of his eyes. He was starting to wonder if he'd have enough brain left in his head to finish today's job.

" —an' you don't work for shit, you French bludger!" Sniper coughed back, grabbing Spy by the shoulders to try and wrestle him off.

Spy went for the throat- the gloved fist curled around the Australian's neck, unrestrainedly attempting to squeeze the life out of him. He continued to slam the Sniper's head against the ground, all the while squeezing tighter.

"And you are an arrogant," Spy snarled, punctuating the sentence with another hit against the ground.

"Uncultured…" Slam.

"_Connard!_" Slam. By this point the Sniper's skull must've been cracked.

Spy released his grip around Sniper's neck and dropped the vest's collar. He retrieved his knife and stood up.

This time, the choking noise Sniper made had nothing to do with surprise. The ceiling swam above him, little white lights of pain swirling and dancing in front of his slowly-darkening vision. He laid there for a moment, struggling to breath, and turned his head off to the side as he coughed up a thick wad of saliva and blood.

Sniper couldn't let this be it. He had put too much out there for this to be the final word.

Rolling painfully onto his side and leaving his hat behind, Sniper wrapped his lanky arms around the Spy's legs, fingers hard digging into the pinstripes as he tried to pull himself up.

"Say wot y'want," he croaked, struggling. "Buh yeh were th' one tha' wanted me. Y'came here, jus' like y'climb'd tha' tree."

Spy closed his eyes and made the smooth shift into the RED Spy; color swirled in front of the Sniper.

"Shut up, bushman." The Spy kneeled and helped him to his feet, supporting him. He swept the hat off the ground and put it atop the bushman's head. "We're going to get you to a Medic." He promised lightly.

Dammit. He'd lost control _again. _

Not in the way he had before. Before he hadn't hurt anything but the Sniper's pride; now he'd nearly _killed _him. Even though it was his job, it would've been a passion-driven murder. Savagely done and not at all professional.

"Can you walk?" He asked lightly, attempting to shake away any emotion. He had acting to do. Confident. Cool-headed. Smooth, with a touch of arrogance. His regular personality.

_I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean to do this._

Clinging hard to the other man, Sniper swayed and stumbled, his weight thrown against Spy's more slender frame. Uh… no, no he couldn't walk.

"Course ah can walk," he grunted back. "Wot do you take me fer? A BLU?"

Sniper forced himself to take a step; that's all it was, just one step at a time. Slide the foot forward, lift the foot, put it back down, and do it again with the other one.

"You gonna toss me down th' stairs, spook? Wanna watch me bounce, one way or another, hey?"

He laughed at his own joke and knew just how delusional he sounded.

Ah, strewth.

Spy gave a tiny snort of laughter along with the Sniper. "There's only one bounce I'd like, bushman, and it's not from throwing you down the stairs. You're likely not going to remember this, seeing as your skull has fractured and your brain is likely bruised." When the Sniper started swaying, Spy held him in place firmly, keeping him from falling over.

He slung the marksman's arm around his shoulder and secured it, letting him lean on the Spy a little more easily. Assisting him in walking; although in the bushman's case it was akin to staggering.

"Come on," He muttered quietly, heading cautiously down the stairs. Once you were properly grounded, he started calling for a medic.

Red Medic ran past, following after his Heavy, but paused when he heard Spy's calls.

"Vas has happened, _herr_ Spy?" he asked, immediately helping to prop Sniper up against a wall. His hand came away from the back of Sniper's head, covered in blood. "Ah… struck by your counterpart, _ja_? Zhe two, zhe tend to, as he might say, 'tussle' from time to time."

Medic chuckled in amusement and fired up his medi-gun.

"Zhere… he should be up soon. Ve half vork to be done. Come along," he called, already trotting on to the next call without even looking to see if Spy was following.

Well. Now he just felt… Strange. It was natural to feel trusted, especially among enemy lines, but he'd _murdered _that man several times before; and here he was, speaking to him like there was nothing between them at all. He sucked in a slow breath. He looked like one of their team. He wasn't part of it.

He couldn't start doubting himself now. He ignored their Medic and remained by the Sniper's side, cloaking as soon as the RED Medic's glance slipped away from the two.

He waited for Sniper to regain his senses, occasionally glancing back at where the Medic had gone off too. If he went quickly now, he could kill the healer and come back before the Sniper wandered off. He decided not to. Stay behind, stay with Sniper, until he recovered. Then he would get back to killing.

…aw, piss…" Sniper groaned softly as he came to. The first thing he did was check himself: chest, weapons, hat, head… it was all there. He was alive and not in the respawn room.

Huh.

That was… odd.

Spy hadn't stuck him after all with his balisong. Why not? The man had him dead to rights, especially after slamming him around like that. He hadn't expected the other to be so strong in his 'moment of weakness', if he could be forgiven the phrasing. The man had certainly beaten the crap out of him. Spy beat the crap out of him and then let him live; he wondered what that meant between the two of them.

"…don't think this means I'm gonna let'cha in, spook," he mumbled to himself, stretching with a pained groan.

Spy folded his arms. He wanted to make a witty retort of some variety but found himself unable. He would just have to settle for silently, invisibly staring at the Australian. That sounded a little odd even to himself; almost creepy.

He trudged up the stairs back up to the Australian's sniping nest. He collapsed atop one of the crates, still invisible, and waited for Sniper to return.

It took some time, but Sniper finally showed back up in the same nest.

"…Spook? You in here?" He asked softly, slowly scanning the boxy room. There were three nests he liked to use and he had checked the other two first. There was no way Spy would have hidden in the original nest… would he? Naw, the man wasn't that foolish… still, he called out and checked around every crate, probing at the corners of the room, checking for the invisible man.

Spy didn't say anything, but he nudged a crate that was sitting beside him. Just enough so that if anyone was looking closely they'd see it, but miss it if they weren't paying too close attention. He meant to keep it like that, but pushed it an inch or so just in case the bushman didn't miss it.

Why was he looking for Spy, anyway? Spy had to wonder. To thank him? To question? To reprimand him for attacking the bushman unprovoked?

Wordlessly, Sniper took a seat on the nudged crate, assuming the sign had been an invention. After all, if Spy had wanted to kill him, he wouldn't have let him know he was there, right?

Sniper took up his rifle once more, sweeping the battlefield through his scope. Things were looking pretty good for his team… maybe keeping the Blu Spy occupied during these fights was another 'support' move… he wasn't looking for companionship or friendship or whatever the hell this was, he was just… taking one for the team.

Yeah, that was it - for the team.

"…got a fresh case of grog chilling in the camper," he murmured after a couple of minutes, as if he was musing to himself out loud, keeping his voice low enough for the other man to hear without seeing suspicious. "Better than any of that suppo nonsense everyone else drinks. If yer interested in toasting to my good health after all this… well… Solly goes in from his evenin' march roight after sunset."

There was a thoughtful silence. "Is that an invitation, bushman?" Spy's voice asked back, spoken low and quiet, a good foot or so from your head. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you're being friendly."

Throughout the remainder of the match the Sniper thought Spy was leaving the room and coming back, but he couldn't be certain. He thought he heard footsteps sometimes; but when he bothered to check Spy gave a quiet mutter of 'keep on your guard' or a sharp exhalation. The Sniper couldn't prove he was leaving, but the long silences were so often and so strange the marksman couldn't help but think he was on his own. It certainly felt like it.

After several more grueling hours, it ended in a stalemate.

As soon as the Announcer's voice flowed from the speakers around the arena, declaring you were all losers, outraged cries rose from both sides. Lord knew the Soldiers on both side were going to bitch about it all night.

Spy reappeared after a flicker of blue, his cloak rendered useless now that the match was over. He was- He was _asleep, _head laying on his shoulder. His legs were crossed and his arms loosely folded. His breathing was slow and steady. Distantly the Sniper wondered if he'd been asleep for a majority of the round.

Oh, right. The stalemate. Spy wasn't going to be happy when he woke up.

Sniper gave the sleeping figure an annoyed look, then one of fondness. The bludger… he really was a lazy man. He was tempted to carry the man down from the nest, flaunt his 'capture', but that wouldn't do too well to help his 'new friendship'.

Still… what a nice little opportunity. He worked his fingers along the edge of Spy's mask, sliding his thumb along the other man's cheekbone. Clammy from the heat, but still… warm and soft, just like any other human being. Was it weird, thinking of the Spy like he was an actual person, rather than just his enemy?

Right, enemy.

He still had his enemy in his territory.

So Sniper did the only thing he could do; he picked up his gun and gave the other man an easy "out".

"See you t'night, mate," he murmured as he pulled the trigger.

Spy jerked awake from where he sat in respawn. Nauseated like always. Dammit, had he drifted off to sleep _again? _The only thing keeping him awake anymore was his own stubborn insistence that he had a job to do.

The round had obviously ended- he would be able to hear gunfire if it hadn't, and no one would've found him unless the round was over. Still, though, it was pretty embarrassing. He hoped either his double or Sniper had actually killed him; otherwise he would never live this down. Eternally made fun of for sleeping on the job. There was a little prickle of ire that made him clench his teeth.

Well, time to head back to the base. Feed Hidden and prepare himself to head into enemy territory. He grinned to himself, then to his suit. A change of wardrobe would do well…

Spy adjusted the cloak and dagger lightly, turning one of the watch's knobs. Just in case their idiot Soldier was still parading around, he kept himself silent, invisible, and stealthy.

He eventually made his way through their base and to Sniper's, their Heavy's threats in mind. He did _not _want to get caught here, and as a result he was later than expected. Better overly cautious than dead, though.

His gloved fingers lightly rapped on the side of Sniper's van.

Sniper yanked the door open, glaring out into the dusk. Either Scout was using pebbles for batting practice again or…

"That you, mate?" he grumbled, leaving the camper door open as he stepped out. Sniper stretched, kicked more sand over the dead logs in his extinguished campfire with the toe of his boot, and took a long look around.

If it was Spy, then he had better get his arse into the camper before he decided to go in and lock it all up.

Finally, he figured he had wasted enough time, and climbed back inside, slamming he door behind him.

Spy was inside, looking around. He looked vaguely interested. "Cleaner than I expected," He observed aloud.

The first thing that Sniper noticed was the way he was _dressed. _

His suit jacket was entirely gone, replaced with a vest and his dress shirt. His sleeves were rolled up past the elbow. He was, however, still wearing his mask and gloves.

His demeanor, his clothing, even the way he was standing hinted his ease. He was completely casual here. For God's sake, he was _slouching. _The Sniper had never seen him slouch before, not unless he was in pain.

"Did you clean up for me, Sniper?" He asked, swiveling his head to look at you in interest.

Sniper just stared back at the other man. Who… who _was_ this? This couldn't be his enemy; for one thing, he actually _almost_ looked human, for another… no, really, he actually almost looked _human_!

"Wot? Oh, er… well, gotta make enough room fer two people trampin' 'round in here, hey?" he retorted, pushing past the other man to pop open the ice box. "You want somethin' ta' drink, Spook?"

"Of course." He accompanied his words with a gracious dip of his head. Sniper's question was almost rhetorical- out here in the desert you almost always wanted something to drink, cold or not.

"May I sit, bushman?" He asked politely.

Sniper nodded, inclining his head towards one of the benches around the tiny table. 'Cozy' was one thing he didn't have to suggest to any of his guests; the camper's interior was cozy enough. He took his time grabbing the drinks out of the ice box so he could inspect the other man out of the corner of his eye.

Ok; ok, Spy actually owned something other than his prissy suits. Apparently he felt safe enough here to show that he could wear something… well, Sniper wouldn't call it 'normal', but it was definately different. Then again, considering how much the man treasured the secrecy of his pet, maybe it wasn't surprising that he felt safe enough to show off some of his other secrets as well.

"Cheers," Sniper said as he finally wandered over, setting the bottle down on the table. He dropped into the other bench seat and cracked his bottle open on the edge of the table, taking a very long draw from his own drink.

Spy gave a grunt in reply. He considered his own bottle for a second, having a strange, creeping urge _not _to do this. They were vague flickers of uncertainty and doubt. Spy'd had those often in his youth, when he was still a new killer and turned to alcohol as an attempt to ignore how he was taking human lives. Everything was seemed less daunting when buzzed, although looking back on it that was probably not the smartest way to deal with his problems. That didn't matter, of course, he'd broken the habit quite early.

Spy took a cautious swig. Ohhh, it was _cold. _He'd expected it to be cold, but they were in a desert in the heat of summer. The temperature came as a tiny shock.

Immediately Spy took a long pull, his adam's apple visibly dipping as he drank.

"Been a long day," Sniper commented as he watched the other man drink. His own bottle was half gone and he had a feeling he'd have a lot more before the night was over. "Stalemate… total piss 'bout that. Thought for sure we were gonna take you BLUs this round."

"I can't take any credit for it." Spy finished another gulp and set his bottle down. Spy hunched protectively over his drink, like a hawk over its kill. It was an unconscious movement, you were almost sure of it. An instinct. "As you probably realized, I was asleep." He swallowed nervously. "Who killed me, anyway? I woke up in Respawn."

"Ah. That was me," Sniper admitted. "Figured you'd appreciate a quick, clean kill rather than me draggin' yer blue arse across team lines."

He couldn't help but recall the quiet, comfortable way Spy had been sleeping in his nest when time had been called and he had been forced to uncloak. Had the man really been that relaxed, that comfortable, around him to trust him to do that? Or was it all a trick?

"So… ah… they aren't gonna miss you tonight? Yer team, I mean. Or do you keep to yer'self as much as our Spy does?"

"Well. I… Mostly keep to myself." He said, voice somewhat uncomfortable. "Sometimes our Sniper and I have little… Trips into the desert when everyone is asleep. He's been trying to open up to everyone a little more." A frown met his face and he scowled down at his drink. "He's been trying to teach me archery. I do not excel at it."

He attempted to cover up his embarrassment by taking a quick swig from his bottle, then continued. "Mostly I keep to my room, stay with Hidden, journal. Draw." He tapped his fingers against the table slowly. "Stay awake as long as possible, unless it's an important battle the next day."

Trying hard to ignore the feeling in his chest - was that… no, there was no way it was that - Sniper just took another long pull.

"Archery, huh? Yeah, it's pretty hard if you don't have the upper strength for it," he taunted. "There's a lot of practice needed."

But, still, there was plenty of new information here to learn.

"You draw, then, hey? Like, wot? Scenery? Desert landscapes?" he joked.

"Hidden." He said distantly. "Twenty sketchbooks full. Some of them take hours to finish. There's not much else to draw, unless I leave my room." He gave a tiny shrug and downed more. "It keeps me awake, keeps me distracted. It needs concentration."

His face shifted from its vague, far-off look to a slightly more offended one. "I have _plenty _of upper body strength, bushman. Our Sniper convinced me to practice while in France. And while I can assuredly say that while the only thing I can manage to hit with an arrow is a tree, it came in handy while on the job." He closed his eyes and chugged for a good, long while before setting the bottle down, nearly empty. "I'd almost forgotten what cold felt like." He muttered appreciatively.

"Take my advice, spook: stick with drawin' doodles of yer cat," Sniper chuckled, setting his empty bottle on the table. Two fingers idly traced the curve from neck to bottom, the gesture as familiar as wiping down his rifle. It was a good gesture, one that grounded him.

Blu Spy had his own Sniper and Blu Sniper taught him how to shoot and how to practice; so what was he doing over here in RED camp, when Blu Sniper was obviously open to spending time with his own Spy? What game was Spy playing?

"…yeah, th' cold is good, especially after a day like t'day. Keeps remindin' us that there is actually somethin' out there, other than th' grit an' the… the cactus?… cacti?… cactuses?… piss."

That was the second time Spy had mentioned staying up.

"Y'got bad dream there, spook?" Sniper asked, glancing over at the other man. "No shame in sayin' so… we all get 'em from time ta' time."

"Cacti." He corrected quietly. "And yes. I'm plagued by nightmares every time I attempt to sleep. I haven't stayed awake this long ever since college years. Other than the rest I had this afternoon…" He frowned, looking up, as though trying to remember. "I don't remember when I last slept. Two days ago? Three days ago?"

"Continuing on… Doing this has created a habit of nearly passing out on the battle field after a strenuous work. But when I do succumb I don't have the nightmares out there." He gave a tiny shrug. "It's nothing to worry about, I'm sure; eventually I'll stop having these dreams." His voice sounded doubtful even to his own ears.

He gave a final couple of gulps of his drink and blinked down at it. He'd drunk it all? Already? Funny. He lightly nudged it to the side.

"Well, I don't know how they do it in France, but that's a sure good way to pass out in the middle of a fight," Sniper pointed out. He got up with a soft groan and wandered back over to the ice box, grabbing four drinks this time. "No wonder you fell asleep in m'box… were too tired ta' fight."

He set the bottles down with a loud 'thunk!' and retook his place.

"A'roight then, spook… let's hear it," Sniper said, cracking open the first bottle and held it out, offering it to Spy.

Spy accepted it with a gracious dip of his head and took a couple of gulps. "I'm aware it's a bad idea." He said curtly. "If I could think of another option, I'd take it. But I prefer being exhausted to jumping at every loud noise or flinching at every shadow. Fear is a good motivator, Sniper. A _very _good one."

"Don't we know it," Sniper chuckled. He opened his own bottle and reached over, lightly clinking the barrel of his bottle against the butt of Spy's. "So tell me: wot scares the big, bad Spy?"

He took a draw of his own and shook his head to cut Spy off from making a joke.

"No, I mean it, spook. Talk to me. Tell me wot's keeping you up. What if you passed out in the wrong place and someone else trips over you, hey? Yer Blu Sniper gonna save you then?"

He folded his arms. "It's… It's hard to explain. Someone… Intrudes in my room. They…" He broke off and chugged, attempting to cover up his discomfort. He continued to drink, gulping and gulping to avoid having to keep speaking. When he finally set the bottle down, he definitely looked upset. "Strangle him." His voice cracked. "Strangle Hidden."

"…oh…"

Well, that was _not_ what Sniper was expecting. With everything men like them have done and seen, he expected Spy to be haunted by something significant… a dead lover, his first kill… _something_, but…

But maybe he could understand. If Hidden was the last thing Spy had in his life that meant anything to him, then that'd be like Sniper's nightmares of men showing up at his home and taking out his parents.

Showing up, just the way Spy did.

Sniper's hand tightened around his bottle, but he didn't say anything. Let Spy get comfortable and cozy; he'd hold on to that little reminder of why he was playing the friendly host.

"Well, y'gotta remind yer'self that its living up ta' its name - stayin' safe an' hidden. No one but the two of us knows about yer cat, roight? You're not gonna tell and I have no reason to bring it up ta' anyone, so no one will know enough ta' sneak in an' do the nightmarish deed."

"I _know. _But ze nightmares just won't _stop._ Twenty six years, hundreds of corpses in Hidden's name. And not _one _of zem I can find it in myself to regret. But bringing him here…"Spy's fingers tightened around the neck of his bottle until you feared he might actually just shatter it. He gave a small shudder and his hand gingerly loosened on his drink. A teasing spark lit his eyes.

"Bushman. I've done enough talking about _me. _Let's hear more about you." He said slowly. You could hear his accent thickening somewhat, accompanied by the tiniest bit of a slur catching on some of his words. "Surely you don't want to hear me babble all night about my problems?"

"Why wouldn't I? Yer an… _interesting_… bloke," Sniper replied. Interesting, surprisingly sentimental, and, apparently, a light weight. Of all the things he had found out over the past week, this was the most useful. He pushed another bottle over towards Spy; nodding invitingly towards it. "Sides, I figure, if a man like yer'self is riskin' so much to tell me he's interested, the least I can do is listen."

"Most of ze interesting bits are secret, _mon ami. _Other jobs I've worked at and ze likes." He twirled his hand for emphasis. "Of course, zey have my confidentiality." He lightly pushed the offered bottle aside. "Non, non, I think I've had enough. Drunk is no way to be, especially not wiz our jobs. Well, ze Demo's an acception, of course, I don't think he's ever been sober willingly before."

"Black, blind, an' a Scot in America? I would drink too," Sniper chuckled. He took a teasingly long draw, gulping the cold grog down, and let out a happy sigh as he finished, licking the residue from his lips. "Ahh… s'a good… fair better then the weak stuff th' others drink. Yer sure you won't have another, spook? Y'must be parched after all th' snorin' you did today," he teased.

"Please," Spy drawled back. "He aims better zen you do."

He lightly tapped the table with his second and third finger, staring at the bottle decisively. After a few moments, he came to a conclusion with his mental argument. It would be rude to refuse his host, and to be honest, he didn't really see any major cons to not being sober. He'd already spilled any major secrets he possessed… Which was a bad thing, now that he thought about it.

He pondered for a few moments longer, then took the neck of the bottle delicately between three fingers and set it in front of himself."Anozzer can't hurt," He murmured under his breath, and took a small, dignified gulp.

Sniper waited for a couple of minutes, just sizing up the other man. Alright, time to test theory number one - the man was already a big mouth, so just how much of a lightweight was Spy?

"A'roight, mate, why me? Y'got yer own bloke fillin' in th' role of Sniper over in yer own team. Th' man's teachin' you how ta' shoot, bush-style. Don't think that's anythin' small… takes a lot ta' bind, fletch, 'n shoot an arrow. So why you out followin' after me?"

He considered for a moment. "I've never really thought about it for very long, to be honest. I suppose it's just ze attraction to forbidden love. Or maybe you're just different zen him." His eyes wandered slowly over the Sniper's torso, arms, neck, and finally to his face. "Verrry different." He purred, taking another swig.

The lightheadedness was getting uncomfortable. Spy could feel a familiar dizziness and disorientation, akin to the affects of respawn but a little less terrifying. He wanted to shut his eyes but knew from experience that was not a good idea. It made the dizziness increase.

He didn't think he was drunk yet, maybe just tipsy, but you could never be sure. How many had he drank? Three? Surely he couldn't be drunk from just that, he wasn't _that _lightweight. He made a vague request for another.

It didn't take much convincing for Sniper to slide number four across the table. He could hear Spy's accent thickening his words and, despite the uncomfortable subject matter, he didn't mind the effects in the slightest. After all, this was one for the team - keep Spy hooked and he'd make it easier for them to win more often.

"Take it easy on this one, mate," he warned good naturedly. "I dunno what proof yer fancy wine is, but I like mine stronger than wot the Suppos have brought in."

Sniper got up and grabbed a bag out of a cabinet.

"Here… have some damper fer y'gut," he offered, pulling out a wedge of bread. "Jus' water an' flour, so it'll soak up nice."

"_Merci_." Spy mumbled faintly. He could barely taste a damn thing, so the slice went down pretty quickly. Nothing to savor, hardly of any substance. Just a necessary obstacle between him and his next bottle. Halfway through four and he was fairly certain this was more than he'd had to drink in the past ten years combined.

He figured he'd stop after five. That was a good, round number, right? But the task seemed a little more daunting after his moves grew more sluggish with each gulp. He finished the fourth and spoke again. "_Quatre vers le bas, un à aller." _It was only slurred moderately. Spy was sure of five, he could take five.

He was hardly even aware that Sniper was there anymore.

"Wot was that, there, hey?" Sniper asked with a laugh, leaning forward with his head propped up and resting against his knuckles.

The Frenchman was quite the wonder when he was drunk; amusing, sloppy, and so very unlike himself. His accent was full-blooded French, rich with the sound of some far-away prissy place where their words flowed like water or music.

"You want a fifth one? Oh, no, no, no… naw, mate, y'full," he teased, pulling the empty bottles away from Spy before he knocked something over. "Y'done fer th' night."

Spy made a faint, protestant noise. "I can 'andle it," He slurred grumpily, clumsily attempting to fold his arms. With some effort he managed, scowling childishly at the bushman. "_Je peux le supporter._" He insisted.

Nausea rose up to squirm in his insides, insisting that he stop. Spy agreed, too, but his pride and the little stupid portion of his brain told him to keep going. The room was starting to spin, his words were slipping, and trying to concentrate on something was as frustrating as trying to staple water to a tree.

"Not sure what you're tryin' ta' say there, spook," Sniper laughed as he turned his back on the other man, getting up to put the empty bottles safely in the sink. The last thing he needed was to walk around on broken glass. His laugh was borne out of amusement, despite the way his jaw clenched with annoyance at the drunken man. He was certain 'supporter' was a mocking slur at him and his 'downgrade' among the team. "But m'pretty sure I didn't hear 'please' in any of that fancy talk of yours."

Spy gave a tiny, annoyed snort, shaking his head slightly. A sudden lurch of dizziness made his body gave an unwelcome spasm and Spy had to fight down vomit.

Maybe… Just maybe… The bushman was right, and he should give up now.

There was something else, something important that the Spy couldn't quite remember. Some important detail. Something… Something… What was it?

Spy was obviously in no state to be heading anywhere. He was so out of it that it wouldn't surprise you if he couldn't walk. He let out an low, incoherent mutter, alternating between broken English and probably broken French.

"Hey… hey, spook! You're not gonna chunder, are yah?" Sniper asked, leaning up against the small counter to take measure of the other man. Oh, boy, was he a light weight… well, that was good news: if he ever needed Spy out of the way for a good, long while, all he'd have to do is slip the man a little something nippy.

Moving around, he cracked the door open a little, just enough to let in some of the fresh air. The desert evening had a cold bite to it, just enough to make him roll down his sleeves.

"Wake up, bludger bluey. Don't fall asleep on me again… m'not haulin' you across th' lines," he taunted, laying his hand over the crown of Spy's head and giving a little shake.

"Shut up," He suggested, clumsily swatting the Australian's hand away. He shivered slightly, goosebumps rising on his bare forearms. "Cold." He complained, but it was more of a statement. He fumbled for a moment with his own sleeves, but quickly gave up.

He slumped over. Arms folded in front of him and chin resting on the table, staring with unfocused eyes at his hands. He mumbled something along the lines of "goddamn bushman" and gestured the Sniper closer.

"Wot? You better not be ready ta' have a liquid laugh at me… you chunder once in here an' I'm tossin' you out in the sand," Sniper warned, lightly tilting Spy's head to the side so he could get a better look at the other man. Spy was just about out of it… he'd have to put him up for the night.

He squatted down beside the bench, making it easier to stay in Spy's line of sight, and chuckled. "A'right, bluey, wot is it? Y'got somethin' ta' say?"

He started talking again. It was short, mostly a messed-up jumble of words; almost all of them weren't even close to understandable, but after a while you managed to figure out the meaning. "Pillow." He mumbled. "Give." He gestured clumsily.

He gave a quiet groan. "Now."

Smirking, Sniper rubbed his hand over the woolen mask in a soothing gesture. He wondered if the other man actually had hair underneath, if he'd feel better if someone scratched their fingers through his hair…

"Say. Please," he taunted, enunciating the words carefully. Ah, this was more fun than he thought it would be. But… hmm… he wondered…

Dropping his voice to a chesty growl, he tried a different tactic.

"You want that pillow, you are gonna be polite ta' me, Bluey." Sniper warned, tightening his fingers into a fist to grasp the back of the mask. "Now, be a good dog an' say 'please lend me a pillow'."

He gave a faint noise of pleasure at feeling the Australian's fingers on his head. The Sniper's insults had almost completely passed him by along with his words, but the tone made him listen. It was slightly easier to divine the meaning of his words when he was speaking like that… That attractive growl urged him to listen properly. He managed to pin down a few words of his speech and struggle through their meanings.

It was a slow, sluggish process, which brought a tiny flicker of annoyance. If he'd been sober he would be able to obey in an instant; but now it was a battle to not vomit and to understand what he was saying. Concentrating, he attempted to ask. It took him a second to realize that he was speaking in French.

He made the switch to the proper language. "Please lend me a pillow." He tried. Slurred heavily, but he hoped the bushman would accept it.

Strewth.

The man had actually done it. Sniper found himself grinning in delight; the other man had actually repeated the words, politely, like an obedient child. The false start with the French was a little annoying, but the way the man had used the same inflections the second time around told him that Spy had actually been trying to follow his instructions, rather than trying to insult him.

Talk about a power trip.

Standing up, Sniper closed the door to his camper, shutting out the air, and pulled a spare blanket and pillow out of storage.

"Move, Bluey," he commanded, helping Spy to his feet. Gingerly, he leaned the other man up against the wall, checking first that he could actually stand, and then reached under the table, dropping its height to turn it and its two benches into a makeshift bed. Satisfied, he tossed the blanket and pillow down on top of it. "Three rules, Bluey: y'don't chunder inside, y'don't nab anythin', an' wake up is at four-thirty. I don't abide sleep-ins, so don't expect me ta' tiptoe 'round yer arse. Got it, Bluey?"

When had he decided that was Spy's nickname?

Oh well… it was a pretty good one, all things considered; the man was obedient enough. Besides, it was both an insult and a favorable call, all rolled into one. It didn't get much better than that when it came to giving your enemies a nickname.

"Hey…" Sniper's voice softened just a little, as he checked on his drunken problem, rubbing his knuckles fondly against Spy's neck. "You hear me, Bluey? You got it?"

Spy gave a fond little trill, pushing back against the Australian's fist. There was tension in his neck that had almost always been there, and this was definitely a relief. Oh, if he could get the Sniper to do this more often he definitely would. He wasn't tense at all due to the drinks he'd had, but if his muscles could get any more relaxed they would. He closed his eyes, felt his stomach turn, and reluctantly opened them again, still coasting the soft wave of pleasure the Australian was bringing.

Oh wait. The Sniper'd said something. Spy had to go over what the bushman had said slowly, receiving the meaning after a couple moments. "Don't steal, don't vomit, wake early." He offered feebly, giving an exaggerated nod. "_Oui_."

He nudged you aside, staggered the few steps, collapsed on the improvised bed with a tiny grunt, and gave a quiet "_Bonne nuit."_

With a fond smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, Sniper hung his hat up on the wall.

"Have a good night, Bluey," he replied softly.

Still, before he climbed up into his own bed, he pulled an extra blanket out of storage - a quilt this time - and draped it over the sleepy drunk. Let it never be said he was a bad host, no matter who it was he was hosting.

True to his rules, Sniper rose just as the sky was starting to lighten, far before the sun was even a possibility on the horizon. He stretched with a groan, popping his back, and gave himself a good shake. Pulling his jeans and boots on before his feet even hit the floor of the camper, Sniper yawned loudly. He half-climbed, half-slid down the shallow steps that led down from the cab bed down and immediately prepped his first pot of morning coffee.

He knew Spy was still there; he had checked periodically through the night, too alert to really sleep soundly, and didn't feel the need to look over at the lump under the blankets, not before he had his first cup.

Spy was still asleep. The Sniper could hear soft, quiet snores that sounded rather natural in this setting; so natural they were hard to notice unless specifically listening for them. The blanket rose and fell faintly from his breathing and his impractical, pointy shoes poked out from the bottom of it. Spy had slept like a rock the entire night; something which was not a common occurrence.

It was funny. He seemed so peaceful when he was asleep; whether leaning against a wall, or lying here. It was hard to believe he was plagued by nightmares.

Sniper stepped outside to stroke the previous night's campfire back to life for breakfast, cleared away some dried brush and trash that had blown up close in the night, and stretched again in the clear, cool air. Finally, he couldn't ignore the company any longer and headed back inside. Coffee wasn't done yet… why did it always take so long for the very first pot to come to life? With a sigh, he leaned up against the side of the wall, just watching for a while.

Huh… it was sort of funny. When he was asleep, the Frenchman seemed far too human to hate. He even snored; it was soft, but it was a snore. He was still wearing those stupid, dainty shoes though. What sort of man wore his shoes to bed? Was he afraid someone was going to take them? That something was going to crawl into them? Maybe back in the Lucky Country, but out here in the middle of woop woop? The worst thing that might crawl into a shoe was sand.

He had to wonder: if Spy was sleeping so soundly, what had he been whinging about last night? All that talk about nightmares and his cat… Sniper figured that the man would have been sleeping worse than ever, knowing his pet wouldn't be there when he woke up.

The coffee maker gurgled to life, finally spewing forth a steady stream of piping hot coffee.

Ah, finally!

When there was enough, Sniper noisily poured himself a mug and slurped at it loudly.

Spy gave an annoyed groan into his pillow, abruptly awoken.

He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and yawned, rolling over onto his back so he could face you. "What ungodly hour of the morning is this?" He asked, rubbing his face and wincing. Everything seemed so _loud, _and there was a headache already starting up.

"What the _hell _happened last night?" He asked finally, drawing his hand away. "I don't remember much of it."

Taking another loud slurp, Sniper licked his lips.

"Well, first you cried about yer cat, then y'begged me ta' fuck you. When I wouldn't, you promised ta' throw th' next match if I let you blow me," he replied, hiding his teasing grin by turning away to pour a second mug. "Coffee?"

Spy responded by throwing his pillow at you and curling back up beneath the blanket. "If it's as filthy as your imagination, I don't want any." He drawled.

Sniper laughed, flinching slightly at the impact of the pillow against his back. He scooped it back up and tossed it back.

"Ah, don't sulk, Spy. Yer still as innocent as y'weren't before last night…" he taunted, pouring the man some coffee anyways. "Come on, get up an' drink this."

He eyed the ground disdainfully. "Perhaps you weren't aware, bushman, but some people consider it improper to be awoken before the sun. Especially people who were drunk the night previous and are uncertain whether they can walk a few steps without pitching over. Of course, I don't suppose you'd expect anything but compliance from myself." He gave a little huff. "No, bushman. I'm not getting up until I can see the sun."

"Sit up or I'll pour this on yer head," Sniper warned. When his words didn't make Spy stir, he heaved a sigh. "A'roight, you brought this one on yer'self…"

Rather than hold onto the hot mug, however; he grabbed a bottle of water instead and chuckled. Rule three - no lie-ins. Closing the gap in two short strides, Sniper hiked himself up, straddled the blanket lump, and poured the water over Spy's head.

"Wakey-wakey, Bluey. Professionals follow rules."

Spy gave several muffled curses in a variety of languages, lashing out blindly. "Bushman," He sputtered, "They will never find your body."

After a few moments, he sat up grumpily, mumbling in annoyance. "Remind me to never sleep here again," He grumbled, shoving the Sniper away from him and stretching. "Fine. If you insist I wake up at this hour, I'm going to proceed with my own morning rituals."

"Sure, no worries, mate," Sniper laughed, moving out of the way to let Spy up. "There ya go - yer mornin' shower, all taken care of. No need ta' say thanks."

Spy got up, giving a little groan as he did so. "I appreciate it, bushman." He growled in annoyance. He headed for the van door, swaying as he walked and mumbling tiny curses under his breath. He opened the door and headed out, shutting it lightly behind him.

"…strewth," Sniper swore, scrambling up when he realized what Spy's little walk-about could actually mean. He burst through the door, looking around quickly, making sure no one else was up. They rarely were, but even Soldier rose once the sun did, and if Blu Spy was still around by then…

"Bluey!" He hissed, almost as surprised at the way his voice dropped automatically into a strong command as he was at how concerned he was that Spy stayed hidden. He just didn't want others to talk… that was all…

Sure, that was all it was.

"Calm down." Spy said, voice vaguely amused. He was sitting down five or so feet from the Sniper's van, a small pad of paper and a pen in hand. He had casually shifted; now wearing an exact copy of what he'd been previously, except now at a familiar shade of red.

"…wanker," Sniper muttered sullenly, embarrassed to be caught in a small panic. "Good to see yer drunk arse still has enough brain cells to do… that," he gestured to the other man's outfit.

Still, if anyone saw the "Red" Spy hanging around out here, so casual and relaxed in his territory, it would look bad for both of them.

"Wot are you doing anyways? Shouldn't you be cloaked or somethin'?"

"Oh, yes." Spy drawled. "People will definitely question the floating pen and paper less than a teammate. If you're quite done asking questions, shut up. My head hurts and it's hard enough to concentrate without your pestering."

Sniper gave an annoyed sniff and stepped back inside, slamming the camper door as he did. For someone with a smarting head, Spy was certainly his usual snippy self.

When it seemed as if Spy would actually get the quiet morning he desired, the door opened and Sniper returned with two mugs.

"Here. Hair of th' dog," he grumbled, holding one of the mugs out. "It'll put you right."

"In a minute." He muttered, squinting down at the paper in concentration and lack of light. He sketched out a couple lines and accepted his offering, taking a cautious sip without taking his eyes off of his drawing. He took another sip and set the cup delicately on the ground besides him.

He expertly twirled his pen and hunkered over his art, tapping the end of the pen to his chin in thought.

Sniper worked on his mug of coffee, scanning the base's windows carefully to watch for any signs of movement. Nothing yet, but he wasn't too surprised. Everyone else was still sleeping.

Eventually, he couldn't help but look over Spy's shoulder.

"Wot you working on?"

"Stress relief." He grunted. "Draw the man that kills Hidden in my nightmares. First thing I do when I wake up." He moved himself a little so you had a better view. There was the basic outline of a doorway, and a window behind the new figure already sketched down. Spy'd just drawn the shape of the man in his nightmares, but was already working on shading the window and smudging ink to represent filth or stains; either on the walls or on the window. Spy looked to be a fairly decent artist.

"I would've drawn it faster but I can't _see _a damned thing." He grumbled.

"Huh."

Wow, Spy hadn't been joking when he said he worked on art. Sniper figured that the other man had meant he fussed around with watercolors or appraising other pictures or something delicate and sensitive, but this… this was actually pretty good work. It was certainly far better than he could ever do.

"…y'know there's a light in the camper, roight?"

"Not going back in there." He said dismissively. He took a gulp from the mug beside him and set his pen down. He stared for a second at the paper and suddenly perked. "Unless it's for breakfast." He said. He swiveled his head up to meet your gaze. "What time do you usually have breakfast, bushman?" It was spoken neutrally, but even Scout could've detected the longing behind his voice.

"Yer lookin' at it," Sniper reported, raising his mug in a mock toast before taking another slurping pull. Still… the other man looked so… what was the word? Sad? Lonely? Desperate? Hopeful?

"I suppose I could mix something up if yer actually gonna eat it, though," he reluctantly added. "As tiny as you, I'm surprised you actually eat."

"Not often." He said. "But every so often even us handsome rogues have to eat. I would appreciate it greatly if you made something, bushman." What the hell, he'd already come here, conversed with the enemy, gotten drunk, slept in his enemy's van, and was drawing just outside his enemy's base while completely unarmed. Breaking his regular diet would not be the worst thing that happened in the past few hours.

"Do I look like a short order cook to you? Is this a Macca's, where you can just order som'thin' up?" Sniper grumbled, pushing off the exterior wall of the camper. He headed back inside and came back out with his hat and rifle. "If you want breakfast, you better still be here when I get back."

Spy gave an amused snort at the image of Sniper attempting to have a 'regular' job. "I'll still be here." He promised. He bent over his drawing, twirling the pen once before resuming. Line here, line there, smudge here, be careful on the shading there…

The sun had nearly risen by the time Sniper came back. He carried three desert hares in one first, the limp bodies dangling by their ears. Without a single look to Spy, he passed around the far side of the camper van to set up a rickety skinning table. Something told him that Spy wouldn't be partaking in this part…

He worked quickly, skillfully separating the pelts from the muscle, and turned the bodies into manageable chunks of meat, all of which went into a heavy iron skillet.

Sniper laid out the furs to let them dry and went back around the front to settle the skillet over the campfire.

"Don't you dare tell me yer a vejjo," he growled in lieu of a greeting as he crouched down to stroke the flames.

"Out here?" He scoffed. "Any self-respecting vegetarian would've died several years ago; the only thing that could be considered an actual vegetable out here for miles is cacti." After a few moments he gave a satisfied noise and flipped the drawing pad shut, swiftly pocketing both it and the pen.

"Your Soldier should be awake soon." Spy observed, staring off at the horizon. "God knows that is not a confrontation I need. If you don't mind…" He adjusted the knob on the Cloak and Dagger, his entire body swiftly consumed by its invisibility-granting affects.

Sniper just grunted back; he wouldn't admit that he felt far, far better with Spy being invisible than simply disguised as part of their team. It was just another part of the strange, backwards logic that seemed to be part of this… whatever this was.

"When that gets low, head on in. We'll eat inside," he muttered, trying not to look like he was out here, talking to himself.

Spy gave a quiet grunt of understanding. He distantly wondered what the hare would taste like. He was fairly certain he'd had some variety of rabbit before, but struggled to recall the taste.

He eventually gave up, deciding thinking was too hard, and watched the sun rise.

"Peaceful out here, isn't it," Sniper commented after a while, lounging back in one of his old, beat-up lawn chairs. "I mean, when it's a cease fire an' all that. It gets so quiet, all y'can hear is the desert's song."

Spy gave an affirming murmur. He wouldn't have described it exactly as a 'song', more like a lack thereof.

He glanced down at the watch. A couple minutes or so remained… He didn't want to interrupt the calm stillness that had settled over both himself and the bushman, but he forced himself to stand up. He made more noise than he should have to clearly point out that he was getting up. The bushman would be smart enough to figure out why without his explanation, Spy hoped.

Hearing Spy's cue, Sniper gave an answering belch and stood up as well.

"This looks about done," he commented in the sort of languid tone he used when he was talking to himself, using his vest to pull the pan off the fire. Kicking sand over the flames to smother them, he moved the steaming chunks into a tin bowl, and made his way over the the camper's door. "Might as well eat while it's hot."

He opened the door, pausing to look at the dying fire long enough for Spy to slip inside first, and then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Hope this is good enough for yer snobby tastes… m'not exactly the sort of homebody that Truckie is," Sniper commented, the closest Spy would get to an apology for the charred strips of meat deemed as breakfast.

"Food is food," Spy said sagely. "There is no such thing as bad food when you're starving." His cloak abruptly flickered and died, leaving a grumpy-looking Spy behind.

"Honestly though, bushman, if you weren't giving me breakfast I would insult your cooking mercilessly."

"I'll take that as a 'thanks'," Sniper chuckled, shoving the tin bowl into Spy's hands. He made short work of blankets and pillow, stuffing them back into the cabinet from where they came, and raised the table back to a more useful, usable level. "Cheers or whatever it is you lot say… bone appa-tiny."

Spy considered correcting him, but realized he didn't care. "Close enough, bushman." He said dismissively. He slid back into the seat he'd taken the night previous and his stomach picked that moment to give a loud growl.

Spy attempted to act like he hadn't even heard it and set to work chewing one of the slightly blackened meat pieces.

Sniper poured the last of the coffee into his mug and started a second pot. Probably would be best to switch to decaf at this point…

"So? Not too bad, there, huh, spook. Fillin' at least. Hare is hare, no matter where you catch'em. Always got a decent amount of meat in 'em."

Spy gave a short mumble. The flavor wasn't very strong, which he was rather thankful for. "It's half-decent, I suppose. It's definitely not the worst breakfast I've ever had." He commented quietly between bites. He had to caution himself. That was almost a compliment.

The throbbing in his skull was growing steadily worse. He paused for a moment to rub his forehead with his knuckles before resuming eating.

"Careful not to get TOO nice with yer words there, spook," Sniper laughed teasingly. "I might actually think yer trying to give me a compliment, as far of a stretch as that might be. Who knows… stranger things have happened recently."

He glanced over his shoulder at the percolating coffee pot, licking his dry lips. Even with the desert heat, he couldn't help but gulp the stuff down by the pot, probably no thanks to his 'upgrades', courtesy of Mann Co.

"Head hurtin'?" Sniper asked, noticing the way the Spy rubbed at his forehead. "Need another round of my personal 'cure'?"

"Shut up." Spy advised, digging around in his pockets again. "I've got my own cure in the form of actual medicine." He withdrew two white tablets from his left pocket and swallowed them along with a chunk of hare.

He glanced down at his watch. "Soldier should be awake and patrolling by now." He informed the Australian.

"Yer mean in th' morning," Sniper teased, rinsing out the mug he had used for Spy's drink, and set it aside to dry. He wandered over, leaning over the other man, and rested his elbow against Spy's shoulder, his hand rubbing along the cloth-covered skull. "Aw, does th' lil' thing have an ache in his head? What happened ta' my yammering Bluey? Practically purred like yer damn cat when I did this last night…"

"Shut up." Spy murmured. "But don't stop."

Now that the bushman mentioned it, he did have a vague memory of the Sniper's hand and knuckles around his head. But not in a violent manner, no, more like he was doing now. Like… rubbing. It felt good, and Spy almost hated that it did.

He consoled himself with the thought was _not _going to stoop to actually making vocalizations expressing his pleasure; although he suspected he had last night.

He blew out a breath in exasperation. If he kept acting like a fool in front of the Sniper soon he wouldn't have any dignity left at all.

"Like that, hey?" Sniper asked, his voice soft and low, rich with amusement. He rubbed his hand over the other's head, experimenting with different pressure and different directions; he scratched his nails along the wool, rubbed the pads of his fingers against the fabric's grain, massaged and squeezed, anything that came to mind. Everyone had their little 'thing' that would drive them to be weak in the knees. If this was Spy's, then he wanted to know everything he could about it.

It just might mean the difference between a good mood or a bad one for Spy… and a win or a loss for the REDs.

Sniper was going full-out on this. Who cared about why? It felt _amazing, _every single second of it. The bushman tried all sorts of things, a couple of them prompting quiet, hastily stifled moans. There was a particular weakness for the Sniper's knuckles- they were sturdier and could move harder. Suspicion bred, however- After the condescending, snippy remarks he'd made this morning Sniper should hardly feel like offering him any pleasure.

"Why… The hell…" Spy's voice came out as a weakened growl. "Are you doing this?"

Hmm… that was a good question… and Sniper knew he needed a good answer for the other man, one that Spy would actually believe.

"Because I'm a good host," he growled into Spy's ear, working his knuckles along where the other man's neck met his head. "Because I didn't stop you from drinkin' yer'self stupid last night. An' mebbe because I was a little impressed with how you handled yer'self on the field yesterday. Didn't know there was an actual fighter beneath this prissy mask of yers, Bluey."

Spy moaned. And _loudly. _He drew his shoulders back, away from his head, and let Sniper work. He couldn't think of a proper retort and instead set his forehead on the table to let the bushman reach all of the back of his head and neck.

Well _that_ was a surprising sound.

Sniper almost stopped, feeling more than a little awkward at being the cause of the noise. He didn't, however; this was the 'thing' he was looking for, Spy's weak knees 'thing', and knowing that he now had a lock on it was more than enough to keep the weird feelings at bay.

What would happen if he tried this in the middle of a battle? Would he be able to convince Spy to sit and stay for a while with the promise of more of this, taking him out of the fight? He certainly planned on trying it; it could turn the tide of the battle… maybe even the war…

"Loike that? Hey, Bluey?" He teased, licking his dry lips as he spoke. "You loike that?"

"_Ta gueule_, Sniper." Spy muttered. "Nhh…_Inférieure. S'il vous plaît._" It would help to speak in French. That way he could plead all he wanted and Sniper wouldn't understand a word of it. Only the tone. It still didn't change that he was begging Sniper, though…

"If you call me Bluey again," Spy grunted, "I am going to ram my knife into the most unpleasant place I can think of." The Sniper could feel the taut, unrelaxed coils of muscle in his neck as his fingers moved down.

Spy spat out a breathless swear upon your contact with it, but whether it was from pain or something else was unclear.

"You loike it," Sniper chuckled, digging his knuckles in as he rubbed along the muscles in Spy's neck. "S'ah good name. Loike th' workin' dogs… yer just almost as obedient as one, aren't you?"

He spread his fingers so the knuckles were straddling the thick cords in Spy's neck and worked at them, rubbing his knuckles back and forth around them. Spy was surprisingly tight here; was it because of what they were doing or because he spend most of his time skulking around? Sniper knew after a long day bent over his rifle, the muscles in his back were just as tense.

"Go on… tell me you loike it… I hear ya' beggin' in that forked tongue of yers," he teased and taunted, shifting to bring his other hand into the game. "So don't think you can lie to me, Bluey; you loike it."

"_M-Merde…_" Spy groaned. This was less about the actual activity now, more like a battle of wills. Spy's pride wouldn't simply just let him confess to liking it, but _God _did it feel great.

The Sniper's knuckles roved over pained, bunched-up muscles and worked to loosen the tension stored within them. It hurt, but it also felt fantastic.

He put in a weak protest for the Sniper to stop, but there wasn't any heart behind it. "_Arrêter …" _Spy came to the reluctant conclusion that the bushman wasn't going to cut it out until he confessed to liking it. And although it felt _great, _he was embarrassing himself by grunting and moaning in satisfaction.

"Fine, bushman, you win," He said through gritted teeth. "I like it, alright?"

Sniper chuckled.

"Good boy," he growled into Spy's ear, rewarding the man's confession with a deep, chesty sound, before pulling away to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee.

Well, this has been a productive twelve hours… not only had he found out that Spy was a complete lightweight, he found that the man would put up with just about anything from him, and loved the feeling of his knuckles along the back of his head and neck. Whether or not he actually liked the nickname was up in the air, but Sniper was pretty sure he wouldn't use it quite as often if the man really did enjoy being called it. What fun was it if it wasn't just a little bit mean?

"Should be finishin' up there, Spook," he warned lightly, glancing at the time. "Yer team mates will be wonderin' where you might be if you take too much longer."

"Let them worry," He grumbled. "I don't usually leave my room until ten minutes before the actual round starts." Even so, Spy sped up his eating until he'd finished the hare Sniper had so generously prepared.

He stood up, lightly adjusted his tie, and glanced at his own watch. He spat out a muffled curse. "You didn't say it was _this _late!" He said in dismay. "Dammit, dammit…"

Spy cloaked and rushed out, giving a hurried valediction as he went.

Chuckling, Sniper leaned up against the open door frame and slurped down his coffee as he watched clouds drift lazily across the sky. An annoyed, panicked Spy was a distracted Spy was a good Spy; he was looking forward to the day's match.


	3. Part 3

(**Author's Note:** Hahahaha, this is long. Really long. I'm sorry. It's also completely and totally unedited, because Christ if I'm going to carefully comb through almost 40,000 words...)

* * *

><p>The nightmares are getting worse.<p>

Maybe not getting more frequent_-_in fact, sometimes he doesn't dream at all. He's thankful for those nights, they're the only thing that can coax him to sleep anymore. The nightmares are getting more terrifying- flashing visions of pain, bloodshed, laughter- Hidden lying on the ground as knotted, ancient fingers slowly pull out bloody entrails and slide them onto the bloodsoaked carpet. The fingers do other things, too- mutilate and maim, taking one of Hidden's gorgeous, glowing eyes, cutting off ears, tails, paws, even going as far to skin him and force Spy to wear the cat's pelt for a mask. One dream those cursed fingers put out Hidden's eyes, tore off his ears, whiskers, tail, and legs, so he was just a writhing, screaming body set in Spy's lap. And he screams. The cat's screams are what Spy wakes up to, echoing shrieks of pain and fear that plead for relief, plead for death. He didn't know a cat's screams could be so expressive, so full of terror and agony that it makes Spy cry out like the hounds of Hell are after him at ungodly hours of the morning. His fingers tremble and shake and he performs what's become a routine- calling Hidden to his side and smothering the cat with affection as he attempts to stave off horrified sobs that have invaded his throat.

It's a gamble whether or not he's going to get a peaceful night's sleep or he's going to wake up screaming, sweating, and crying. Spy is not a gambler. He's kept himself awake so long he starts hallucinating- but this takes its toll on him. He attempted to sneak up on the bushman one fight, but realized the effort of holding up his knife was making his arm shake. He couldn't stab hard enough for a kill like this- even if the Sniper hadn't heard him enter, which he doubted, he couldn't get the blade to go cleanly or deeply enough in this state. He'd quietly staggered off to one of the bushman's other sniping nests and promptly fell asleep, woken nine hours later. By then, everyone had gotten off the field and gone back to base hours ago.

He was a pathetic wreck- not suited for battle at all. He's asking his Sniper for more and more shooting lessons, as frequently as his own bushman will allow; Spy's actually become half-decent at it when he's not so fatigued it's a struggle to stand up. Their Sniper has literally been forcing him to eat before practices. He's the only one, other than Medic, who has noticed how his suits have gotten a little looser on his bony frame- a remarkable feat, since Spy didn't have any fat to begin with. He's straying into 'starving' territory, and his growling stomach certainly lets him know about it. But Spy doesn't see a _point_to eating, other than consuming enough to stay alive.

He'll cook at three in the morning, pace the halls, shower, do anything to keep his mind off the nightmares. And he's started drawing obsessively- every little detail of everything around him is put to paper, some of it erotic in nature. He hasn't been spying on the enemy team, so most of it is from memory- but he now has a decent reference for what the entire band of mercenaries looks like when not clothed. Why does he need this? He's not sure. Spy knows he spent two days painstakingly putting everything he remembered to paper, but he doesn't know why he thought it was a good idea or even what he was thinking while doing it. He doesn't know or remember much of anything these days.

Except the enemy Sniper. He remembers the meeting with him, how he'd gotten a sweet, blessed night of good rest. The only place he can seem to get any decent sleep is on the battle field or there- and since he'd rather die than be caught snoozing on the job, he begins to hold the idea of sleeping there again like some kind of legend- a dream to endlessly chase. It doesn't help any, but now he's got an obsession. The notebook that he has tucked inside his jacket is full of sketches of the inside of the Sniper's van, neatly written French noting everything inside it from what Spy remembered.

He's approaching the bushman again- the battle's roar sounds in his ears, the distant noise of explosion and gunfire. His arm is trembling slightly, but he can't afford to let the Sniper _know_how weak he is. Perhaps when he screws up this stab the bushman will see the dark circles beneath his eyes, or remember the kisses they'd shared, and take pity on him. Kill him quickly.

He doesn't get that far. His legs simply refuse to obey him and before he crumples to the ground he manages to collapse atop a crate.

Sniper spun around, surprised into action by the noise, and brought his gun around with him automatically. It wasn't until he lined up the shot that he realized who was on the other end of the barrel.

"Spy?"

He lowered the weapon with an incredulous look. It took a second for common sense to kick in and Sniper reached out, grabbing the man by the front of his suit, and hauled him over to the only protected spot in the nestbox. He couldn't help but notice just how easy it was to move the Spy - sure, the man had always been thin and light, but now he was just about comparable to hauling around his rifle.

It hadn't exactly escaped his notice that the other man had been suffering recently. At first, it had just been the clumsy attempts, but then he stopped trying to taunt or goad him, and, eventually, as time went on, Spy had simply stopped showing up at all. Sniper had started to track him at that point, watching the other man through his scope as he stumbled his way through battle after battle. He couldn't bring himself to take the shot - it was a sad sight, he told himself; it wasn't that it was a mercy not to send him to respawn, it was just a sad sight to see a man that used to be so graceful go through such a rough patch. The man was clearly suffering.

But Spy never came to him, so he never sought him out.

If Spy wanted his help, he'd come to him. Maybe he wouldn't come asking - both of their prides couldn't abide asking the other for help - but he'd blackmail him into it. That'd be a lie they would be able to stomach, a good cover for the truth between them.

"Th' rootin' hell are you playing at?" Sniper demanded, his words tinted ever so slightly with concern. Watching his enemy through the scope put things into close perspective, but seeing him in person like this showed him the truth of things: the dark circles under the man's eyes, the sallow look to his pale skin, the hitch of breath as he struggled to even exist… when he loosened the Spy's tie to try and help him breathe better, he couldn't help but brush up against his chest. What he felt prompted him to undo the top couple of buttons on the man's suit and what he saw made his stomach lurch; Spy looked as if someone had grabbed what little skin there was on him and pulled it tight over his bones. He was all sharp angle and ribs, so how he managed to make it out of bed, let alone up all those stairs, seemed impossible for Sniper to comprehend. "…Spy… what… d-did something happen to… you know who?"

"No." Spy's voice is just as weak as himself, spoken just barely above a whisper and cracking on every other word. "The nightmares are getting worse. So bad that I don't even want to _think _about attempting to sleep. I pride myself on staring at death unflinchingly, but_ you _try sleeping when you know when you sleep the last family you have is being tortured to death." His voice grew even quieter, dropping to a low, tired murmur. "He always takes the eyes."

Spy can't help but feel a small surge of hope. Everyone has noticed by now that their resident Spy was getting sicker, scrawnier, and staying awake more often than not. The only ones who have even made any comment on it, other than concerned whispers passing around the mess hall, are Sniper and Medic. Medic offered some kind of surgical 'treatment' while the other simply made him eat before lessons and sometimes outright denied teaching him, briskly telling him to go the bloody fuck to bed.

But this Sniper, his _enemy, _is one of the first to actually show concern. It's clear as day on his face, rather than the excited interest of Medic or the blunt scowling of his own Sniper.

Maybe, just maybe, he could tolerate heading out to the enemy Sniper's camper if it means he'll finally get some proper sleep. If he had to, he'd make the trip while _dragging_ himself across the desert. He looked up at the Sniper. "You don't seem to be doing your job." He said, raising his eyebrows. His voice meant to be a purr, but it went flat and tired before he could even make an attempt. "Don't you have people to murder? Weak, broken-down Spies to kill?"

Sniper scowled, but didn't say anything back. The rooting idiot…

But he could understand. As much as he wanted to taunt the other man, to agree how weak and broken he was to be afraid of a few bad dreams, he couldn't; not about this. Sniper knew how much the little beast meant to the Spy and he knew what it was like to wake up from a nightmare of seeing someone that important hurt in such unimaginable ways.

He straightened the other man's clothes, pulled his hat off, and laid it over Spy's face, blocking the light for him, before getting up to retrieve his rifle. Sniper dropped back down on his own crate, raising the scope to his eye to return to his work. Suddenly, it felt all the more important that he did his job; he wasn't just supporting his own team, he was keeping up appearances for the both of them.

Spy had finally come to him and that changed everything. He wasn't sure how he could help - how could he do anything more than be an understanding presence? - but Spy had come to him. That had to mean something, right? Until he knew what the other man thought he could do for him, he'd do his job and patiently wait in silence.

He was very good at waiting.

"Sniper…" The Spy's voice rose hesitantly after a good couple of minutes, and gloved fingers tilted the hat back. Every word he spoke was purposely slow and quiet. "I need your help. This is going to sound ridiculous, but…" He squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a loud, tired breath. "I want to sleep in your camper again."

If the Sniper denied his request Spy supposed he would trudge out to his camper and fall asleep in the sand if he had to. He'd honestly done it once before, just a few nights ago- He'd slept for a good hour or two before waking up due to insanely vivid dreams that made him want to forget color existed. But the fact that he had gotten to sleep at all in the cold desert sand was another testament to how exhausted and desperate he was.

He pushed the hat back over his face and there was a loud noise as he cloaked. Even the hat was missing.

As tired as he was now, he didn't want to rest yet. He could sleep easy in Sniper's van, and if he had a nightmare out here he wouldn't be able to hold back screams. And if someone came rushing in he didn't want Sniper to be forced to explain why.

Sniper's shot went wide, missing the enemy Pyro and an easy kill as they gloated over their Scout.

"You delusional, Spy?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, quickly working to line his shot back up. He managed on the second try and down went the gloating firebug. "You gotta be, askin' somethin' like that…"

Still, Sniper couldn't help but remember just how peaceful the other man had looked, curled up under the blanket in his camper van. The image came to him, unbidden; how relaxed he had been, how much rest he seemed to get that night. It had surprised him at the time, considering Spy had spend the entire night away from his treasured pet, but if something - anything - had helped get him through the night, then Sniper had supposed it was for the best. He hadn't thought about it since then or, at least, he hadn't let himself muse on it. It was none of his business what the other man had gotten out of that night; he had found out plenty. That was all it had been.

He blew out a breath.

Strewth.

"…you'll never make it under yer own steam." he heard himself say. "Better stick around until th' battle's over."

The Spy gave a pleased groan and shifted on his crate- the Sniper couldn't see him, but he had allowed a genuine smile to form on his face for the first time in weeks. "I cannot thank you enough." His voice was thick with relief. "I- I'm not sure exactly how to make this up to you. There's not really anything I have to offer."

There wasn't really much a person could offer out in the desert. Thanks to those idiot Mann brothers, they each got enough money to pay for a full two-story house each year, so money as a bargaining tool was useless. He wasn't on Sniper's team, either, so he couldn't offer some kind of assistance in defending on the battlefield… And if Sniper wanted him to work for it he was in no condition to do anything but walk a couple of feet. He hadn't realized just how bad of a shape he was in until coming here- but now he was so exhausted and shaky he didn't think he could make it off the battlefield unaided, let alone to the Sniper's camper. If he had to guess he'd say this was one of his crashing days- where he was literally forced into sleep at a random interval. But if he got that one good night of actual rest…

One night of real sleep was not going to be enough to completely restore himself to his former glory. It'd taken weeks to get this broken down and it would take longer to repair himself. He could only hope the enemy Sniper would remain understanding and patient through this process, especially since he was assisting a man whose job was to stab him in the back on a daily basis.

"Don't," Sniper said briefly, keeping his words curt, a vocal equivalent to keeping the other man at arm's length. "I'm jus' looking out for my best interests. You keep passin' out on the field, they'll fire yer ass. Plus, if you stay delusional like this, you'll wind up sayin' the wrong things to the wrong people. I don't want word of my oldies gettin' around."

He took another shot and down went the BLU Demoman. Sitting back for a moment to glare at the protected corner, Sniper wondered if Spy looked as relieved as his voice had sounded. The man was clearly beyond exhausted; he was desperate. He didn't dare let the twinge in his gut tell him that he felt sorry for his enemy.

"So you're gonna sit right there an' keep talkin' until everything's over. I wanna keep an eye on you so I know you're not sneakin' away to set some sort of nasty trick up to trip me. Then you'll get half an' hour to put a lil' something in that pitch-black stomach of yours— "

He narrowed his eyes at the invisible man, hoping Spy got the hint he was talking about Hidden instead.

" But no more than that. If yer not knockin' on m'door in half an hour, I'll assume this has been a bloody joke at m'expense. Don't you dare have a lend of me, Spook. I'll spend all battle next turnin' you into a series of lil' pink clouds if you dare. You hear me, Spy?" He asked, his voice dropping to a deep growl in an attempt to continue feinting annoyance as he lifted the rifle again, fitting his eye against the scope.

"Sniper, what kind of person do you take me for?" His voice comes out, weak, amused, and spoken with mock-hurt. "I'm not the kind of person to ask for something I need and just walk away from it when it's offered to me. I'm no fool, nor should you treat me like one." He gave a little huff as he mulled over the Sniper's words. "You're expecting me to yammer on throughout the duration of the battle? Sniper, I had no idea you liked torturing helpless men." He wasn't sure that was an exaggeration- In this heat, combined with this exhaustion, his throat was going to be sore and drier than the desert by the time he was done talking. At the very least, he could use that as another excuse to have a drink with the bushman. "And wouldn't it distract you as well?"

Spy closed his eyes, thinking for a moment, when he heard that one little sound that he's heard a hundred times before- soft claws scraping wood. His eyes shot open and he decloaked, a tiny grin on his face. He listened a little closer for the sound, getting up. He's shaky but that doesn't matter; he hardly made a sound, even with all his exhaustion. He nudged aside a crate and gave a soft hiss of satisfaction as his shoe slammed down on the tail of a large, gray-furred mouse. It gave a shriek of pain, one Spy has grown used to, and he gingerly picked it up- thumb and forefinger lightly pressing on its ribs, his other hand's fingers grabbing its damaged tail. He headed back over to Sniper and deposited the little rodent in his jacket.

He raised an eyebrow in the Australian's direction, as though challenging him to ask.

Sniper looked at the other man for a moment, then silently turned back to his window. It wasn't as if he was a stranger to the idea of living things becoming dinner; heck, he had a new vest in the works from the buck he recently took down in preparation for the winter months, but it was the way Spy had moved. Even with how unsteady he was, he had moved far more stealthily than he had seen in the longest time. Spy hadn't done it for himself, he had done it for Hidden - that cat was the only thing that kept the man going.

For the briefest of moments, Sniper regretted the fact that he was allergic to the little hell-beast. Maybe if he wasn't…

"Fancy suit like that, I'm surprised you'd line the pockets with mouse fur," he offered glibly instead. "Of course, now that yer wasting away, you'll finally have space enough to fit yer hand in one of your pockets."

"Wasting away," Spy scoffed. "If I had any intention of dying yet I would've run back to France and taken him with me. He can't be living for much longer, and I want him to be _home _when he does." His face fell a little and he looked down at his hands in the realization. He'd said it bluntly, but God does it hurt to think about Hidden passing away. He's not sure what he'd _do _without him. Track down another black cat in his city? Hidden bred with so many females any cat with a smidge of black on them could very well be his descendant.

Maybe he'd go back to work. Pretend his heart didn't break, pretend that Hidden never lived at all. The only thing to remind him would be a grave by his mother's and the hundreds of sketchbooks all full of his pet's image.

This needs an abrupt subject change.

"Remember the four scars on my arm?" He prompted. "The ones you asked about when we were up that tree?"

Sniper nodded back solemnly, rifle lowered, his post all but completely forgotten. To hear Spy say those words… it hit the other man hard, that was plain to see. He had almost expected to see the Spy's eyes soften, maybe even water a little, the way he knew his own did whenever he wrote home. Thinking about that inevitable end - the letters returned, postmarked as getting there only to come back, maybe even bundled with that dreaded red envelope that any of them got when there was bad news to be had - was a sobering thought.

No wonder Spy was willing to tell him a little something personal in order to keep his thoughts away from the sobering reality than the eighteen of them so rarely thought about.

"Yeah, y'said you got bit by a dog, hey? A big, bad pack of 'em?"

"Yes. It was in the slums of Paris, just a little after my twenty-third birthday. I'd owned… him… For two years at the time. I'd just gotten back from a job assassinating some unimportant prime minister- I often turned to alcohol in my youth, usually more than I should've consumed. My memory of my early twenties is very, very… fuzzy." He frowned a little, as though remembering, then continued. "I was slinking around there, because at the time I couldn't find a decent ride to my home. The car I owned had been stolen when I left it there. I was a foolish young man at that age, marked by how I had Hidden with me."

Spy sighed, staring at his feet in shame. An embarrassed red has started to form on his cheeks where the mask doesn't cover. "I'd taken Hidden on a dangerous mission. An assassination. I killed a man while I had him hiding in my jacket." He gave a tiny exhalation. "I was an idiotic young man, like I said…"

Sniper snorted in an attempt to hold back a laugh. What yobbo takes a _pet _along with him on a job? A cat, tucked up inside his suit; Sniper was shocked that the man hadn't wound up slashed to ribbons by the end of his mission.

"You don't seem to have changed," he taunted. "So… lemme guess: a couple of hounds caught whiff of a certain young someone, skulking around, an' though y'smelled pretty tasty?"

The Spy gave a mock frown and lightly punched him in the shoulder. "That's _rude,_ bushman." He scolded. "And it happened more or less like that. It was the middle of the night, I was drunk off of my own success, but I needed a place to rest. I'd managed to stumble out of the city and out onto the countryside. I couldn't make it all the way home, especially on foot- I found what looked like an abandoned home. Hidden and I fell asleep outside the house, and the next thing I know it's three in the morning and I've got a pistol pressed to my head. I disarmed the man, but he has dogs. Not the French-type poodles," He added hastily. "Hunting dogs. Three of them. I got up and started running. He called them after me and I'm suddenly in a race for my life."

He pulled out a cigarette from his box and considered smoking it. He came to the conclusion that in his awful, exhausted state he'll only feel worse. He pocketed it again.

He would have been happy to let the shoulder punch go, maybe even laugh if they had been anywhere else but in the middle of a battle; however, they weren't chums, they weren't laughing, and they weren't as alone as he'd like to think they were.

Sniper reached over and grabbed Spy by his wrist before he could withdraw his hand from his pocket. Yanking hard, he pulled the man down, twisting him around so he landed on his knees with his back to him, and pulled his kukri from his belt. Stabbing down hard, he embedded its tip on the wood with a grunt of effort.

"Stay down, you bloody wanker," he hissed quietly, a hand resting on Spy's head to keep him below the window's level. Sniper curled his fingers into his palm and turned them over, rubbing his knuckles against the back of the man's skull; he hoped that still worked. If it didn't, he would wind up fighting with the man the entire time. "Someone's loikely ta see yah."

"What the _hell_ are y- ahhhh…" The Spy went completely limp underneath the bushman's hand, loving the sensation but still not completely understanding the situation. What the hell was the Sniper's problem? Spy certainly wasn't complaining about how it'd turned out, but he wanted to know _why _he was suddenly being forced to his knees and why Sniper was snarling quiet words of caution.

He sensed it would be best if he kept quiet- so that's what he did. Let the bushman's knuckles run over all those weary, battered parts of his head and neck while giving near-silent purrs of pleasure every so often.

"We're still in th' middle of a battle, Spook," Sniper reminded him quietly. He raised his rifle and fitted his eye against the scope lens; his own Spy was peering across the battlefield from one of his counterpart's nestbox. Had he fooled him? Could the RED Spy see him at all over the vast distance? He supposed he might look like nothing more than a smudge to the other, but at least he'd be a right colored smudge. "Y'think it'll look good fer either of us if my counterpart happens to spot you an' yer not in the middle of being dead?"

It took effort to hold the rifle in place with only one hand and he certainly couldn't shoot like this, but he persisted, keeping one hand down, elbow braced against his thigh, to rub his knuckles along the back of Spy's neck and along his cloth-covered skull. It kept the man quiet and still, so he supposed it paid off. Only a couple of times did he have to stop, lifting his hand just long enough to grip his rifle properly and take a well-needed shot.

"Ahhh. Relax, bushman." Spy can't hold back little huffs or puffs of pleasure, but he keeps his voice quiet. It's irritating as _hell_to have this feel so good. Sniper's got his physical weak point, but Spy doesn't have his. That's enough to send prickles of annoyance through him as well as pleasure. "Why would he pay you any extra heed? It's not like he _knows_about…" He frowned, thinking. It's a surprisingly difficult task, what with the bushman's thorough, pleasing rubbing. "_Does_ he know about the interactions we've been having? Is there a possibility he could've been watching us, both on the field and- o_ohh God!"_Spy promptly jerks his head away.

It hurts like hell. Sniper's fingers had wandered onto a wounded region, thanks in part to his Sniper whacking him over the head for asking for a bow-and-arrow lesson after a grueling, nine hour long battle. In hindsight, he deserved it, but at the time it'd seemed like a perfectly reasonable request.

"That _hurts, _you _fils de pute!"_

Sniper snatched his hand back automatically, although it was just as much out of surprise as it was concern.

"Wot? Wot?! I didn't do anything," he protested, glaring down at Spy. A touch of embarrassment colored his face at being caught off guard by the sudden reaction.

He hadn't done anything, had he? No… no, he hadn't been bearing down too hard and he had kept his fingers curled to make sure he didn't accidentally forget himself and scratch the man… Spy had been enjoying himself a moment ago, so what had changed?

"Th' hell's yer problem, Bluey?" he growled, the insulting nickname slipping out by mistake.

Spy had time to recover from the sudden jolt of pain during the Sniper's protests. "Ah… In a fit of annoyance, one of my teammates struck me there." His voice is slightly embarrassed. "It has not healed yet. It hurts a great deal. Your counterpart knows how to hit people very, very hard."

He frowned. "And do _not _call me that. I know you think it's clever, but I am not a dog."

"I think it's more clever than just that," Sniper defended with a light sniff. He wasn't sure which problem to raise a complaint about: his counterpart striking the Spy or how Spy didn't appreciate the nickname. "Blueys aren't _just_ dogs, they're _workin'_ dogs. Besides, 'makin' a blue' is ta' make a mistake… an' you _are_ a BLU… so I'd like ta' think it fits better than jus' remindin' you how much of an animal you really are under that mask."

He reached out and gingerly laid his hand over the other man's crown, splaying his fingers carefully to make sure he avoided the spot that had irritated Spy's bruises.

"…bet he never calls ya anything like that," Sniper heard himself mutter, almost… no, it couldn't be. No. He might feel responsible enough for the man to be willing to let him in for a good night's sleep, but he wasn't… there wasn't…

_Better the enemy that you know, than the one you don't_, he reasoned with himself. It wasn't very convincing.

"Animal beneath a mask," Spy scoffed. "How cliché. We're all animals in the end; some of us just prefer to act a little more dignified, while others hail from Australia." He continues their regular banter, but he's preoccupied with thinking. He's interested in those last few words- my, my, could it be possible that the Sniper is _jealous?_ A slow grin spreads across his face at the thought, but it's best not to bring it up. As cute as the Sniper looks flustered, he doesn't want to risk getting kicked out of the Sniper's van before he's even gotten in it.

Spy can't ignore it, though- he wanted to keep talking and he wants to keep the Sniper talking. Best to pounce on his words without any ill will in the Sniper's direction. "He mainly just tells me to shut up and stop missing the target, when he's not telling me to eat or get some sleep. Honestly, he nags as much as an old woman."

"Y'beat a dog, an' all you'll get is a scared beast with teeth ready ta' snap at first chance," Sniper grumbled. Oh, look… his BLU counterpart was back, fresh from respawn.

Not for long.

"Well, if you whinge on an' on like you do fer me, then it's no wonder he tells you to shut yer gob…" he reasoned out loud, speaking slowly as he carefully picked over his words. "Still doesn't mean he should go about, smackin' you around, 'specially if he's tryin' ta teach you how to aim right. Smack a man enough times an' he'll go wonky-eyed. Does a target no good then, 'cept to keep it intact."

Case in point… Sniper took the shot.

"Bloody piker," he grumbled quietly to himself, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he watched the man go down.

"It was just this once, bushman." The Spy protested. "He hasn't made a habit of striking me for no reason. And I can aim just fine, thank you. It's the… Well, strength that's the problem. As much as I loathe admitting it, the only person on this base who has weaker arms than me is probably one of Soldier's raccoons." A scowl touched his face. "And the only way to fix that is with practice. Constant practice."

It was hard to build muscles when he's so weak and starving, but a smile touched his face at the thought of how his arms have gotten a little curvier- the muscles are growing a little more pronounced now that he's been spending an hour pulling back bows and retrieving arrows almost every night.

"And I do not make a habit of 'whinging' every second of every day. Our lessons are usually held in silence." Spy sniffed.

Sniper felt a blush of embarrassment at misunderstanding color his ears and run down the back of his neck. Why did he immediately assume that the BLU Sniper had been actively pushing his Spy around? Why did he immediately feel the need to… maybe… protect Spy? They were enemies! Well, maybe they were enemies, but even an enemy shouldn't be cracked across the noggin by his teammates. Not that he cared.

Even though he had no target, he didn't dare look away from his rifle, lest the other man noticed the spreading flushed look on his face.

"Well, that's no surprise," he taunted, working quickly to cover the awkward pause. "A bow takes real strength. You weren't much more than a toothpick in a suit before… now, yer nuthin' but a voice. A complaining voice. Don't know how you plan on improving when yer wasting away like this, Spy."

"I _have_been improving," Spy snapped back defensively. He's lost some weight, but some of it was regained with the new muscle mass- it's heavier than fat, after all. This is taking some adjusting to; his arms feel heavier than they should and the rest of him feels too light. He'd get used to it. "Sure, I'm not as good as you or him, but I'm at least half-decent now. I can hit a target." He attempted not to pout- He's actually proud of himself for managing to get this good with a weapon he's never going to find an applicable use for.

"That's better than what any of the _other _mercenaries can do," He grumbled to himself.

"Oh, so you've figured out which way to point the arrow, then?" Sniper chuckled. "Good on you, mate."

There was something amusing about the way Spy sounded when he was on the defense. The way he grumbled to himself, it was like there was almost a sound in his tone, like he was he fighting a pout. Risking a glance, Sniper looked over and smirked to himself.

Spy was definately fighting against the urge to pout; he wondered how long that would hold up. Could he get the man to lose his new-found sense of high-n-might under the strain of being defensively offended?

"Of course, you gotta remember, yer 'other mercenaries' are all BLUs, so just by figuring out that the pointy end of the arrow hurts when you prick yer finger on it is doing far better than the rest of 'em."

"Excuse _you?" _Spy looked offended, glaring at the bushman and practically bursting with annoyance. "We've beaten you just as much as you have us, if I recall correctly. I don't think you have the right to make that statement."

He leaned back, a defiant frown on his face. His knees are starting to hurt. "And you're not really in a position to question the intelligence of other mercs, bushman."

"What's that suppose to mean, you bloody fruit shop owner?" Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow in annoyance. He refused to look down at the other man this time. "You have any idea how much consideration goes into my line of work?"

He snorted dismissively.

"Aw, ferget it… someone like you wouldn't appreciate it."

"I'd say I know a good deal about what you do. And I've done some of it myself, as well. When I was a little younger I took two jobs that required decent knowledge of sniper rifles." The Spy snorted dismissively. "But I've lost my skill and my patience for that sort of work."

"Probably because it takes too much thought 'n precision," Sniper teased, sitting back comfortably on his crate to glance down at the other man. He was just running out the clock now - the REDs were leading by four, so there was no chance they were about to lose. It would all be over soon. "An' not enough sneakin' around like a bloody coward."

He reached down and gave Spy's head a gentle toggle, simply because he could. It was weird, seeing the other man kneel like this before him. Sure, he had seen it before, but that was something different… this was almost casual.

"Hey. You gonna be too miserable if I run you through, Bluey? Respawn'll get you quick to your own side an' you can lie to your teammates, say you lost fighting in th' final round to me," he asked. It was a generous offer, in his own personal opinion.

"Just make it fast." The Spy rolled his eyes. "I've grown used to pain but that still doesn't mean I like it. A nice, clean cut to the jugular should do just fine." He eyed the large, sharp knife the bushman has lying next to him.

"And we've already had the conversation about your stupid nickname. Namely, that it's stupid." He griped. "And no one's going to ask. They all know I'm weak and pathetic, if they don't automatically assume I lost when fighting you then they're as unobservant and imbecilic as you are."

"Oi, Bluey."

Sniper grabbed Spy by the neck of his outfit, where his balaclava was tucked beneath his suit, and hauled him up higher on his knees so they were practically nose-to-nose when he glared at the other man.

"You an' me are gonna have a problem real quick like if you don't get one thing straight."

His voice was deep, almost dark, as he growled the words out. They weren't necessarily a threat - or, at least, not a direct one - but he wanted to make sure that the other man understood him well.

"I'm not yer mate an' I'm not on yer side. I'm playin' host fer your skinny hide so you'll get enough proper rest not to say the wrong thing to the wrong people… an' that is all."

There was only way he knew to make sure Spy would listen properly and took him seriously: use that deep, chesty growl that had made the man fall to his knees the first time he had heard it.

"So don't think you can get away with makin' comments loike that ta' me when yer in my care. You got it, Bluey?"

He just hoped the man wasn't too far gone in his nightmare-borne illness that the tone would have the opposite effect.

"Ah said: Do. You. Under. Stand. Me. _Bluey."_

If Spy laughed at him, Sniper was pretty sure he'd die of embarrassment.

"Ah- Oui, Oui, your message has come across quite clearly." The Spy looked more startled than anything, his blue eyes widening in surprise as he attempted to wriggle free from the hand clenching firmly at his collar. He's ashamed to admit it but that growling voice is enough to get his heart racing. "I'm no longer allowed to insult you. I get it." He attempted to jerk himself free once more. The strength he mustered was laughable at best and he simply gives up, looking into the Sniper's eyes.

"You- You, ah, you can let go now." Spy prompted. "Unless you're looking for a kiss I think you should unhand me." Inwardly he winced. That was… Not the most intelligent thing he'd ever said, especially right after the bushman had done all this in warning _against_making little quips like that.

The corner of Sniper's mouth ticked upwards out of reflex; even when he was cornered, the man could still make those stupid little quips…

"I might be allowin' guests, but I'm not that hard up for company," he growled, grabbing the kukri with his free hand. "See you for supper, Bluey."

Sniper drove the blade across the man's throat so roughly that the temporary body nearly lost its head. Spy' blood splattered across his clothes, bathing him in its rich color. How strange it felt, to promise to save a man's sanity and then end his life - no matter how briefly - all in the same breath. It made him wonder if the war they fought was really worth it. Perhaps they were all dead and in hell, punished to fight in this endless cycle.

Well, if that was the case, he'd better come up with some real good nosh, seeing how much the other needed fattening. One couldn't continue to reside in hell without some meat on their bones.

Spy broke his streak. Seven years of never vomiting once and suddenly disgusting, yellowish green bile surged from his throat after a violent retch, splashing the Respawn room floor and sending him to one knee as he continues to heave, spilling the little he has to offer and ending his sickness in a bout of pained, shaky coughing. The others, freshly respawned, all flinched away while Spy had his little episode.

Spy casually wiped away the excess fluid hanging on his chin and gets up. The others stare at him, surprised- they don't know how to react. They had no idea just how weak the Spy was, but this has forced the issue in front of their eyes.

Spy nonchalantly strolled out, pretending it never happened despite the stench, how he's still shaking, and how he can feel the bitter vomit burning the back of his throat.

Something suddenly occured to him and he groped his suit in concern, gingerly feeling to see if the mouse has made the respawn journey with him. Surprisingly, it has. He could feel it in his pocket, and amusedly thought to himself how the Respawn machine seemed to have no continuity whatsoever. No matter. He's grateful for the machine and Hidden will be too, once he gets his dinner.

The cat played with his food for a while, chasing it all over the room before finally breaking the little rodent's neck and dining upon it. Live prey is a rare treat; usually the Spy has to sneak all sorts of ungodly foods to him. He once got so desperate that he's fed Hidden _human_meat in the past.

While Hidden is toying with his mouse, the Spy selected his wardrobe. He finally settled with the same outfit he'd worn last time, although he's slipped the balisong and a sketchbook into one of the pockets. He kneeled besides Hidden, tells him in a low voice that he had to leave for the night, and fondly stroked the cat.

He couldn't stay here much longer. The bushman had left him with a deadline; and he can't afford to be late.

By the time Spy reached the camper van, there was a fire going strong and, with it, the tantalizing smell of meat sizzling away in its own juices. Sniper lounged just off to the side in one of his broken down lawn chairs, his legs stretched akimbo, occasionally tending to the heavy pan that housed the meal. He drank lazily from a bottle of beer that he rested against his forehead in between sips and seemed more interested in the position of the sun than he was in his task.

Spy could hardly hold back a whimper. He would never, _never _admit this to anyone except for possibly the Sniper, but it smells amazing. His empty stomach has been pleading for food ever since he'd tossed up the remainder of its contents, and he's hungry enough to start eating _himself _if nothing else comes his way. Fortunately, by the smell, it doesn't appear to be an issue.

He purposely kicked pebbles and gravel aside as he walked, tell-tale signs that an invisible man was strolling by. He finally stopped next to the Sniper and set a hand on the back of the chair. "Is that for me?" He asked, his voice attempting to become a gentle purr but coming across as nothing but very, very hungry. "You shouldn't have."

Stretching to pop his back, Sniper reached up and felt around, patting lightly at Spy to gauge where the man was.

"Oh, I shouldn't have, hey? Well, I guess I'll be dining alone, then," he shot back quietly, but the small smile he wore as he shifted to tend to the pan said differently. Spy had good timing… the meat was just about ready, medium rare and oozing with delicious juices. He scooped a plate up and speared the meat out of the pan onto it.

Sniper opened up the door of his van and stepped inside, setting the plate down on the little kitchenette table, only to turn back around and go back to the fire, dumping a bucket of sand over the flames to smother them. Satisfied that there wasn't going to be any issue with it - and that Spy had enough time to get inside - he wandered back in, slamming the door behind him.

Spy had decloaked and was standing over the plate- he had the same predatory, defensive look on his face that birds of prey had when tearing into their kills. Hungry and willing to fight tooth and nail to defend his meal.

He stepped away from it to allow the Sniper a little more room to move around. A low, loud growl burbled from his stomach and he cast his glance off to the side, embarrassed.

Sniper took the man in with a brief glance, trying not to be too obvious that he was looking him over. The sound of Spy's empty stomach grumbling make him smile; even this starved, the man had waited.

"Well?" He said casually as he passed Spy by, moving over to the ice chest. "Look mate, if you aren't gonna eat what I prepared, then you can just hightail it back to where you came from…"

He definitely pouted this time as he slunk back over to the plate. On his way he gave the Sniper passing looks, silently questioning if it was okay. It felt odd to take food from others with their full knowledge. The only other times he had to take meat from others was for Hidden, and in secret. He had a sort of instinct now, like any meat he came in contact with should be stored for later and passed off to the cat at the earliest possible time. He felt… What was the word? Guilty? For eating something that could nourish Hidden instead.

This was a stupid way of thinking and he knew it; if he died of starvation no one was going to take care of Hidden.

He sized up the amount and attempted to compare it to the meals he'd had in the past week. He was fairly certain this was more than what he'd had in the last seven days, and the thought made his stomach squirm.

It occurred to Sniper that Spy wasn't just being polite… he was nervous.

"Sit," he commanded as he came back around, a hand on the other man's shoulder to shove him down into one of the bench seats. "An' eat already. No one is gonna take it away from you, no one is gonna make you share - that's _yours,_Bluey. All of it. Take yer time an' eat as much as you loike. You aren't gonna get much rest if your stomach keeps growling loud enough ta' wake the dead."

Sniper sat down in the other bench seat, sliding one of the beers across the table to Spy. He had already eaten, tossing a bit of meat between two slices of bread to sate his own appetite while he had cooked up Spy's meal. He was perfectly content to drink for the rest of the night - although he had to remind himself that he'd need to keep the other man's limit down to two bottles. No sense in feeding him, only to make him sick.

Spy's control wavered as the Sniper spoke. It'd been a while since he'd had food that was actually his. And the bushman had made plenty. Manners be damned, he had an appetite to feed.

"Ah- thank you- Sniper." His voice was vague and wavering- all his attention was focused on the food in front of him. His stomach gave another growl, much louder and much fiercer. Still, he could barely bring himself to eat it. The impulse to hide it away and save it is almost overpowering, despite his own hunger. He forcibly reminded himself that Hidden's already had plenty today- if he kept feeding him so liberally it could cause health problems.

The best way to free himself of these hesitations is to ignore them, shut up, and eat. So that's what he does- taking a first, tentative bite and attempting to guess just what had died for his own survival.

The man looked starved, the man sounded staved, strewth - the man even _moved_as if he was starved… so why did he continue to wait?!

With a noise of annoyance, Sniper reached across and grabbed the knife and fork. He sawed off a chunk of the meat, spearing it forcefully enough that the tines squawked against the plate beneath. His other hand grabbed the Spy by his jaw, forcing the man to lean forward as he held the fork to his mouth.

"Don't make me force th' meal down yer gullet, Bluey," he warned with a growl. "Eat or tell me what's so damn wrong with m'food that you'll turn yer starving nose up at it."

"There's- There's nothing _wrong _with it," The Spy explained hastily, not wanting to risk the Sniper's anger. "It's just… I'm not used to. Well. Eating at all. Especially not meat. That's- Usually it all goes to Hidden."

He did _not _want to offend the Sniper. He swallowed the meat the bushman had forced to his lips.

Sniper let go of Spy's jaw quickly, uncertainty and disbelief cutting through his frustration.

"Your cat? Your—- you tellin' me that yer starvin' yerself over yer bloody cat? Strewth, Spy, don't you… why haven't… it…"

He withdrew to his own side of the table, tapping the fork against his cheek in an effort to not say the wrong thing. If he started yelling at the other man, he could very easily drive Spy away, and then who would take care of him? Certainly not himself. His team? His team has been letting this go on right in front of their eyes without doing a damn thing, other than smacking him around the head and yelling at him. And clearly yelling wasn't working.

"I will give you an entire bag of prime cuts to take back for yer damn cat," Sniper finally said in a quiet voice. "Just eat."

The Spy's shoulders relaxed. He's glad the Sniper has quieted down, but his _offer_is much more pleasing. No sneaking about, thieving- The Sniper's offered enough to give him peace of mind for a good deal of time. He gave a tiny, soft noise of relief, and opened the bottle he'd been neglecting. "Thank you."

With the promise carefully in mind, Spy ate. He ate very, very neatly and not particularly quickly. His movements are nearly mechanical. But the utter, sheer satisfaction on his face is enough to prove he's human. He's enraptured. In complete and total bliss. The Sniper isn't the best cook in the world, not even close, but Spy's been surviving on practically nothing but scraps for several weeks. It tastes amazing.

Once he's cleared a good fourth of the meat, he finally looks up at the Sniper. The parts of his face that aren't covered by the mask are a bright rosy-red. "I didn't get to finish telling you about these scars." He comments awkwardly, gesturing to his forearm. The four white scars stand out against his skin, but just barely. Spy's arms are very pale.

Now that the Sniper's attention was drawn to his arm, the newer curve of muscle became a little more noticeable. Spy had definitely gained a little extra strength since last time he'd been here.

Sniper's eyes lingered along the man's arm, tracing the slight curve slowly, as if he was committing it to memory. Huh. Who knew the man could be more than straight lines and angled corners? Maybe BLU Sniper wasn't doing him a disservice after all…

"Yeah," he agreed slowly. "Yeah, that's right, you didn't… but you better keep eating between words, mate," Sniper added, his eyes flicking up to meet Spy's. After a moment, he leaned back and took a swallow from his bottle. "Well, alright, don't keep me in suspense, Bluey: you were facin' down a couple of hounds an'…?"

"Plainly put- I ran. Hidden in one arm, pistol in the other. I was full of adrenaline, running as swiftly as I could, but even Scout can't outrun hunting dogs." He paused to take another bite, giving an appreciative murmur. "It's the dead of night, too. They're following me by scent and I'm stumbling my way home only by the light of the stars. One of the dogs got a little too close. Snapped at Hidden's tail." He scowled at the memory and gently pushed aside a piece of meat with his fork, scuffling it around the plate in his annoyance.

"I shot it. A clean kill, straight through the head. My silencer's not on, and the shot's loud enough to leave both my and the dogs' ears ringing." He scarfed down a couple more pieces before continuing. "The chase has been going on for three or so minutes. I was sprinting almost the full way, so I was about half a mile from my home- or at least nearest I could figure. I thought I recognized the landscape."

Sniper sipped at his drink as he listened, his attention fixed solely on the man's words. He never would have thought it, but Spy was a rather decent storyteller; he could paint a scene with his words and Sniper let his mind drift ever so slightly as he imagined the attack as it unfolded.

"One of the dogs…" Spy hesitated a moment. "It took a decent chunk out of my jacket and back. I cried out, Hidden panicked and ran, and they picked him as a target instead. I had four shots left- I killed one of them and gave the other a limp, but it was darker than respawn's void outside. I couldn't see anything, so it's a miracle I even did that much." He took the time to sip at his drink and add another couple portions of meat to his stomach. "Hidden came running back to me and I ran like hell. The wounded dog was furious. He came after us as quickly as he could, but he was limping. I was able to keep him at a good distance before I… Well, I tripped. I was maybe fifty yards from my parent's home at the time. I curled my arms around Hidden and tried to protect him. He tore my suit to ribbons, and probably my chest, too. But if he went streaking off the dog was going to kill him."

The Spy frowned. "I made a choice. I fought a wounded, maddened dog almost as large as me with nothing but my feet. I don't really remember this all that well, but the dog bit my arm deeply enough to leave marks. Hidden swiped at its nose and it let go. Now, the dog was barking, I was screaming, and the cat was yowling. Anyone would wake up to that racket. My parents rushed out- My father was in my variety of business long before I was. He shot and killed the dog while it was mauling me. My mother treated my injuries." He blew out a soft breath. "Hidden wasn't hurt. I got my money. Despite the wounds inflicted I recovered."

His parents?

Sniper straightened up slowly, taking that thought in. Spy's parents… it felt so strange to think of the man having oldies. Not only that, but the man was his father's protege! Had Spy worked under his father, learning the art of the trade? Had his father approved of seeing his son do the same dirty work he did himself? He must have; hell, both of his parents must have. His father had come to his rescue and his mother had patched him up… they were just one big, happy family, weren't they. Or were. They were gone now, after all, he recalled. No wonder Hidden was such an important secret for Spy…

He realized Spy was watching him, waiting for him to say something.

"…puts m'own story to shame," Sniper offered up, distracting himself with a long pull from his bottle.

"Your story?" Spy set down his fork, looking interested. "Your mother was interested in telling stories about your childhood, but they didn't much speak about how you became a mercenary or how you came to work at Mann Co." Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say- the bushman was still sensitive over his parents, and that might've been a blunder. He rushed onward in an attempt to distract the Sniper from what he'd said about his parents. "I'd love to hear how, you don't seem like the type someone would… Ah… hire to work on a team. You're as antisocial as I am."

"Thanks, Spy," Sniper grumbled, but there was no malice in his voice; for some reason, his curiously generous mood continued. "But no. No, I meant m'own dog bite. Yer's is… you had a good reason ta' get bit; you were protecting Hidden."

He doubted his mother had told Spy that one… although, he always suspected she knew, despite the fact he never told her and she never asked.

"…wait, that was how you wound up working for Mann Co.? What happened next, then? Yer oldies ship you off ta' save yer hide or something? Keep you outta reach of the police?"

"The Administrator reached out to me while I was recovering." He admits. "She'd heard of my father's work long before this incident, but he was too old for that kind of job. She knew that I was willing to take any work offered to me, seeing how a badly injured assassin doesn't exactly have people lining up with job offers. I wanted to stop coasting off my father and mother's money and get genuine, high-paying work. The Administrator offered such, and I, of course, gladly accepted. Well, I didn't officially accept it until ten years later, but I _did _accept it. I left Hidden in care of my mother while my father was off on some sort of mission. He died soon after I arrived at work, but I wasn't told until six months afterwards."

He frowned. "My mother died a couple months ago, leaving only me to look after Hidden. But there was a complication." He drums his fingers against the table. "After my father's death another man had become my mother's… sort of… _Lover_ isn't exactly the right word, but it's close enough. When I went to retrieve Hidden I was also determined to kill him- and that's why I was gone for nearly a month. He'd learned how to hide from spies and assassins from all the time he'd seen to my mother."

Sniper adjusted his hat awkwardly. It was impossible for him to imagine walking into the kitchen back home to see someone else sitting with his mum - it was just straight up, flat out impossible - so he could hardly imagine how Spy must have felt in that moment.

It occurred to him just how much trust Spy was giving him, but, considering he was already holding his enemy's life in his hands, he supposed it was hardly a far step away from that to unburdening himself of his secrets.

"…m'sorry, Spy," Sniper murmured. "You were jus' tryin' to do right by 'em. I get that."

"Not really anything to apologize for." The Spy's allowed that weary tone back into his voice. "He's dead, Hidden's safe." He shrugged slightly and took a break from eating. He's full. It's odd feeling full for once- it makes him feel a little indulgent, and a little guilty. He stared down at his hands for a moment and perked up, as though suddenly remembering something. "Do you have a bow on hand?"

"Hey? Er… yeah, course I do," Sniper's head jerked a little in an automatic nod, despite the sudden topic change. "How'd you think I brought down th' buck yer eating? Arrow's better; sure, there's the chance of the shaft breaking off as it flees, but you'll never bite into a shot that didn't get cleaned out."

It took a moment.

"No, Spy," He growled and finished off the last of his bottle. "You ain't touchin' m'bow."

Spy folded his arms grumpily. "You're no fun," He complained. "I daresay I'd be more careful with it than _you. _And I can actually prove that I'm not as bad off as you all think." The incident with respawn came to mind, but he ignored it. Sniper didn't need to know about that.

Sniper raised an eyebrow.

"All? You been taking an audience with your practices, Bluey?" he asked as he got up to fetch another drink, curious despite the teasing tone. If it was him, he wouldn't agree to train his own Spy until the man promised to keep it quiet; he could hardly imagine his counterpart being open and eager for others to know he was wasting his time teaching the man how to handle something he shouldn't have his gloved hands on. "Never figured you'd be the sort to show-off…"

"I'm _not _a show-off." He grumbled in annoyance. "But they know about the lessons ever since Scout intruded on us and it's become a popular joke in our base. Mainly about how someone as tiny and thin as me couldn't manage to lift a bow, let alone shoot it." He gave the Sniper a flat look. "Oh, and homosexual slurs, because everyone knows you can't spend time with someone without fucking them at some point."

"Piss 'em," Sniper growled automatically, turning to look over at the other man as he retrieved a fresh bottle of grog for himself. "Scouts' got big mouths an' no brains… you can't let 'em rile you up."

He couldn't help feel a little guilty twinge in his gut, though; he wasn't exactly innocent of using slurs either… kinder words, but slurs all the same.

But what if someone spotted them now or, even worse, had caught them in a moment before? Would anyone understand the position he was in - how he was helping his team? How responsible he felt for the man? Still, Sniper was pretty sure he'd never forget the feeling of Spy's lips on his, no matter how much he wanted to. Hell, the mere memory of the feeling of the man's teeth in his neck still sent a shiver down his body… involuntarily, of course. But he always had enjoyed a good bite and teeth weren't exactly exclusive to one sort or another, so who could blame him?

"Look, mate… yer… whatever," he said as he dropped back into his own bench and looked across the table at the other man. "So what. Half t'guys here are either in the same boat or are makin' exceptions on their choices jus' so they won't have to go all the way into town fer a night's company."

Sniper gave him a crooked grin to show he was joking when he added:

"But don't think I'm gonna bend you over this table jus' 'cause I'm feedin' you an' lettin' you stay th' night. Th' innkeeper doesn't get paid that way 'round here."

"You remain no fun," The Spy huffed, pulling his bottle closer and chugging most of it before setting it aside. "Honestly, what's life if you don't _live_a little? Take one in the ass, it'll probably further your career somehow." He stopped for a second and frowned down at his bottle before downing the rest of it. "That was uncalled for. I apologize."

A full stomach has made him a little giddier than he usually is- a dangerous thing around the Sniper. The bushman has shown his short fuse more than once, and Spy does not want a repeat of what happened this afternoon. He could go without being reminded that they weren't friends.

Both eyebrows shot skyward. Spy's boldness amused Sniper to no end when he remembered just how much of a lightweight the man could be.

"I a'ready have."

Since Spy was feeling so chatty, perhaps he owed the man a story back.

"Not wot yer thinkin'…" He quickly added, opening his fresh bottle. "M'scar from a dog bite. Left cheek. I was… tsk, maybe fourteen? Naw, fifteen. Fifteen, that was the same summer when Tawny was there—- "

Aw, boy, Tawny… he hadn't thought of her in ages.  
>Not the time, though.<p>

" —-but that's not important. M'mates an' I were dickin' 'round like we usually were. Couple of butchers in us, jus' enough to make us feel invincible. Jackie-boy dared me ta' moon th' Leddy's gal as she was workin' th' combine in th' fields. None of us thought to check fer th' dog till he had his teeth in m'arse."

Spy had literally spat out his beer at his first confession, accompanied by a very, very undignified noise. He stared up at the Sniper in complete and utter astonishment.

Once the bushman had continued, however, his baffled face quickly returned to normal. "God, you actually had _friends." _He said, brows shooting up in mock-surprise. "I was under the impression that there was nothing but kangaroos and empty land for miles around your home."

"Jus' because we have a bit of land, doesn't mean we don't have neighbors," Sniper replied with annoyance, swiping his arm across the table to wipe up the mess. "Roos would be a nice change… that's good meat. Not as many as you might think. Plenty of snakes, though. Surprised you didn't get bit on your trip."

He gave a snort. "If I know how to avoid getting murdered by men several times more intelligent than some little reptile I'm fairly certain _snakes _won't be a problem. They were all over the place, I admit, but I'm not idiotic enough to shove my leg into a snake hole whenever I see one."

"Shame. You'd find more food fer yer cat down there," Sniper joked. It occurred to him that Spy might actually take his words to heart. "But what you'd find wouldn't compare to what you'll be bringin' him tomorrow, so I suppose you'll continue to be bite-free."

"If everything from Australia is as skinny as you I wouldn't even consider it. I can see more of your ribs than ones from Soldier's Fourth of July celebration." Spy huffed.

"Loike yer one ta' talk," Sniper snorted, the cold beer warming his attitude. He reached across the table and playfully poked Spy in the bony chest. "Bet I could hoist you with one hand… oh, wait, I already did, earlier t'day. Was loike holdin' my gun in m'hand, only far less useful."

"I'm not _that_thin," The Spy sputtered in protest, leaning forward. He folded his arms tightly. "I can't be any less than a hundred pounds, and with all of _that_," He jerked a thumb in the direction of the mostly-consumed food- "I probably weigh a couple pounds more." It's a pretty big exaggeration. He claimed he was full but he's hardly had enough for a decently sized meal.

"This?" Sniper laughed and pushed the plate back towards Spy. "This was a meal fit fer an ankle-biter… and you couldn't even manage to finish it! Lookin' pretty thin ta' me, mate."

A thought occurred to him and Sniper sized the other man up with a smug, toothy grin.

"S'matter, Bluey? You need me ta' feed it to yah? Don't have enough strength in those toothpicks y'call arms ta' lift the fork anymore?"

"Shut up," The Spy commanded automatically. His face went slightly redder. "I'm full, Sniper, I don't need your insults." His arms pressed a little tighter to his chest defensively, and he frowned at the Sniper. He unfolded one of his arms and nudged the plate away as an afterthought.

The color in Spy's face told Sniper that was exactly the right thing to do and he got up, only to slide into the seat next to Spy. Just like the day they climbed the tree together, all it took was the physical presence of him settling in to make Spy slide over and make room for him.

With a smirk, Sniper reached across and drew the plate closer. He didn't say a word as he cut the remaining slices of meat into little, manageable cubes. Popping one into his own mouth, he made a show of chewing it over, making loud, smacking noises as he licked his lips.

"Come're now, Bluey," he gave a friendly growl, the noise reverberating deep in his chest as he reached an arm over across Spy's shoulder. Around the man's neck it went, pulling him in close, tucking the other man in tight against his side. With Spy pressed up against him, he could feel just how thin he was; if Spy didn't eat, he'd never get back up to health.

Sniper held Spy in place and forced his head still while he lifted the fork to his mouth with his other hand.

"Be a good boy an' say 'ah'."

The bushman had _no_idea how damn embarrassing this was. Actually, judging by the way he looked, he knew _exactly_how embarrassing this was, and precisely how much Spy wanted to rip the balisong out of his pocket and stab the Sniper in the neck. But to add insult to injury, the bushman's practically got him pinned against him and Spy doesn't have enough room to do it even if he really, desperately wanted to. Except with some very, very awkward maneuvering he's fairly certain isn't humanly possible. He squirmed a little against the arm tightening around his shoulder, mumbling French obscenities.

"You're squashing me," Spy finally scolded.

"Naw, bloke like you? You like it. But I'll tell you what: take th' bloody bite an' I'll budge up," Sniper bartered good naturedly. "An inch fer every bite you take. S'fair?"

Spy still doesn't look happy about the arrangement. "_Pour l'amour de Dieu_…" He grumbled, giving a long exhalation. "Fine." He resisted the desire to add in a jab questioning if the Sniper even knew how long an inch was. Stupid and childish- but then again, so is being fed in this manner.

He obediently swallowed the offered bite, grumbling to himself about how idiotic the Sniper was sometimes.

True to his word, Sniper shifted ever so slightly away from the Spy, but he kept his grip around the man's neck and jaw going just as strong. The new position made him lean over, as if he was going to whisper a secret to the other man.

"S'good boy, Bluey," he praised in a warm, amused rumble and speared another chunk of meat. "That's a good boy. Open up, now…"

He wanted to punch the Sniper in the jaw so very, very badly. At that moment, he would give up his first-born son to be able to punch the Australian even once. Anything to get the man to shut up before Spy's face goes beet red.

He snarled out a very rude-sounding word in French and grudgingly took the next bite.

Maybe it was all the honesty he had been soaking up from the other man throughout the meal.

Maybe it was the fact that he was already three drinks ahead of Spy and feeling a generous amount of the amber fluid's 'warm 'n lazy'.

Maybe it was because, despite all his defiant hissing and fury, Spy looked surprisingly pretty darn good when he was helpless.

Maybe it was just because he knew he'd never get away with it every again.

Sniper's thumb affectionately rubbed along Spy's cheek as the man chewed the meat, nudging a little as his thumb dipped beneath the edge of the mask.

"Y'sound as pissed as yer damn'd cat, but y'loike it," he reassured the other man in a low, chesty voice. "It's a'roight ta' admit it, Bluey. It's not loike I'm 'bout ta' tell. You can say it."

"Fine." Spy grumbled reluctantly, swallowing the last scrap of meat and waiting patiently for it to be replaced with a new chunk. "I like it, alright?" He pointedly looked away from the Sniper, pouting. He didn't try to stop the bushman's thumb from meandering across his face, even as it dipped beneath his mask. "I like being fed by you, satisfied?" He mumbled as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I am," Sniper's amused smile could be heard in his voice, even as Spy refused to look at him. The next bit of meat was speared and offered, lightly prodding at Spy's bottom lip for him to acknowledge it. "Y've made no bones 'bout how y'loike me before… why would y'go quiet now?"

His thumb pressed on upwards, rubbing invasively along the Spy's warm skin, tracing the sharp curve of his cheekbone the best he could from underneath the mask's material.

"Maybe yer m'enemy, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna let m'Bluey waste 'way t'nuthin'…"

The Frenchman gave a little huff and started chewing the offered piece. "I'm _yours _now, Sniper?" He asked, the side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. He hasn't missed _that_little nugget of information.

The purr slid into his voice as naturally as a fish swims. "How long have I been yours for?"

The words seemed to catch Sniper off guard. Had he said Spy was his? No… no, he had said he was his _enemy,_ which was right. They were enemies. That's all it was - he was feeding, housing, and reassuring his enemy.

Hmm… something about that seemed a little… off.

"Th' day y'made th' mistake of tryin' ta kiss me durin' th' humiliation round," he declared as he held up the next forkful, deciding to focus on the question rather than the fuzzy logic. "Y'didn't think I'd let you get away with that unpunished, did ya? Now, eat yer bloody food."

That's right! That was the missing piece - he wasn't _fond_ of the Spy in any way, he was _punishing_ him. All the information he had gathered on the other man was what he was using to punish Spy for that disgusting display. He was just returning the favor of humiliation; calling him by the nickname he loathed, forcing him to eat via feeding him by hand, giving him somewhere he felt safe to sleep at, rubbing his head and neck that one special way…

…nnnnnno, no, something still seemed a little off about all that.

"It was a mistake." Spy admitted. "It was not the right time, nor place, was it?" He closed his eyes and thoughtfully chewed, giving both of them time to ample time to think about it. "There are two inches you need to move, Sniper. You're not keeping very close track, are you?"

His stomach is practically bursting at this point. Weeks of undernourishment has left his stomach feeling very, very empty- and being this full again without a slow buildup to it has definitely made him feel more than a little cramped. But the day he confessed that eating too much was paining him was the day he told the Administrator about Hidden. His pride would not allow it.

Rather than reply, Sniper just scooted away, opening up a good-sized gap between them. It strained his shoulder a little to maintain the position and he slid his thumb free of the other man's mask, moving his arm to rest comfortably along the back of the bench rather than over Spy's shoulders.

"Wot do you mean… notth' roight time r'place?"

Sniper speared the next chunk of meat, the gesture just as lazy as his booze-laden accent.

"Makes it sound loike ther'sa roight one."

The Spy gently rubbed his shoulder. "There's a right time for everything." He said sagely, slipping the chunk of meat off the fork and chewing it thoughtfully. "There's a right time for life, death, joy and suffering. You're a not the brightest star in the sky but surely even you've figured this out by now."

"Loike some bloody fortune cookie you are," Sniper grumbled, swatting at Spy's hand. He wasn't sure why, the man was free to do as he pleased… just because he could, he supposed. Setting the fork down, Sniper got up and grabbed his now-empty bottle, walking over to add it to the collection in his sink. "So bloody smart, ain'tcha. Well, piss - not smart enough ta' keep yer'self alive."

He folded his arms. "Sniper, I don't want to hear it. My habits are _not _under debate. I'll keep doing what I think is best for Hidden first and myself second." His voice softened somewhat. "I still have a couple dozen years left in me, supposing respawn doesn't fail. Hidden does not have that luxury. I'm guessing he's only got two or three years left- but I guessed the same when he turned fifteen, and here I am a decade later." There was a tiny, bitter smile that quickly vanished.

He nudged the plate aside. "Am I done?" He asked patiently.

Sniper glanced over at the other man, then over at the plate; it still had half a carve of meat on it.

"Yeah, sure, spook," he agreed in a tired voice. Crossing back, he snagged the now-cold remaining cut with his fingers and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it over as he wiped his fingers off on his vest and dug into the storage cabinet. Food wasn't wasted around here; maybe that would teach him to eat everything he was given next time… probably not. "Yer done. Here… pretty sure y'can manage ta' figure out wot ta' do with these, hey?"

He tossed the pillow and blanket at the other man.

"Same rules apply, jus' loike before. See y'in th' mornin', Spy."

Spy gave a grunt. "_Faites de beaux rêves, mon ami._" A full belly is definitely a good feeling to sleep with, and the persistent tiredness constantly weighing his eyelids down only adds to his yearning to get some rest. The only thing keeping him from passing out on the spot is his own determination to not look like an idiot in front of an enemy.

When he _does _decide to finally lie down and sleep it takes no longer than a minute before the Spy is out cold. A hoard of infuriated elephants crashing through the camper van won't even make him stir at this point.

It takes Sniper a while to fall asleep himself. Oh, sure, he's got a belly full of grog and that's pretty nice. And, sure, he's comfortable enough, even with Spy stretched out below. But there's something nagging in the back of his mind, something that keeps him staring at the roof of his camper long after his eyes have adjusted to the evening darkness.

He isn't entirely sure what is bothering him. Things had gone well enough, considering he was harboring his most sworn enemy in his most private of spaces. Hell, even Truckie hadn't been in here much, save for the couple of times when he was too drunk to make it on his own… Truckie was a good enough friend. He trusted the man not to poke around, so he trusted the Engineer to help him in on those nights.

Sniper made a point of seeing to 'those nights' as little as possible.

Perhaps that was the problem: he was entertaining a guest, one he knew wasn't about to go away any time soon. Even if sleeping in here did help cure the man of his nightmares - which he still wasn't quite sure how it would - Sniper knew that it would only encourage Spy to stick around. The man would be crossing boundaries every chance he got in order to get a meal and a couple hours' worth of rest. He'd eventually get caught and then Sniper would have to decide which was more damning: being disloyal to his team or disloyal to the man he was nursing back to health.

Sniper rolled over and closed his eyes. It wasn't any darker behind his eyelids than it was in the camper, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

He woke up early as always, tired as always, and in no mood to deal with the world. At least they weren't fighting today - that was just about the only thing he had going so far. His boots thumped loudly as he hit the floor of the van, clumping across the narrow space to start his ritualistic first cup of coffee.

The Spy dreamed.

It wasn't a nightmare, thank God for that little mercy, but it was strange enough that he woke up with a start and a soft gasp. He made a vague guess that it was somewhere between two or three in the morning, and the Sniper would be up in a few hours.

Spy heaved himself out of bed, as silent as he was thin, and stared at the Sniper thoughtfully for a good couple of moments. This is one of the best, albeit short, nights of sleep and one of the largest meals he's had in days. He had ideas of how to express his gratitude, but he isn't sure if he can perform any of them without waking the Sniper up.

His eyes scanned the room, looking around for the item the Sniper had warned him not to touch. The desert stars and moon are bright enough so he can distantly tell the difference between object and object, even if everything is nothing but a fuzzy gray. He snuck around the room; noting with a sly smile that he felt almost like he had before the nightmares began. He swiped the bow from where it rests and slings the quiver over his shoulder, silently heading out into the desert.

He's _enthralled. _Slightly battered, gloves a little bloody, but exhilarated all the same. Cold wind slicing through his suit is as refreshing as hell, but not as refreshing as the two dead hares slapping against his hip as he walks. The sky's gradually been lightening, the horizon taking on a soft blue that slowly consumes the inky black night. Stars disappear every moment, leaving only Jupiter and Venus shining coldly in the sky. Streaks of auburn have smeared the far-off horizon, but the sun has not yet peeked from behind the distant, muted brown landscape.

He's been wandering the desert for a good hour or so- but the kills were made recently, just as the stars were beginning to fade. He knows his way back, and he's almost back to the van when he glances down at his watch and winces. The bushman is definitely awake by now so there's no chance of telling the man that he went and got his own bow. He paused at the door of the camper, nervousness squirming in his gut.

He murmured a prayer quietly under his breath as he opened the door. He's going to need all the help he can get.

Sniper had been on the way out just as Spy opened the door, which resulted him shoving - not the door to his camper van - but Spy, who stumbled back down the short steps. Sniper managed to grab the open frame and keep himself from following the other man and, for a moment, he just stared wide-eyed at Spy, completely caught off guard.

The surprise only lasted the briefest of moments.

"Git yer arse in here, now, spook!" Sniper hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen them. "About as useless as tits on a bull… havin' a walkabout this early in the morning… Bugger, I TOLD you— "

Sniper paused, mid-sentence, with his mouth left open for a moment.  
>Again, an unfortunately brief moment.<p>

" —- IS THAT MY BOW?!" he howled with fury. Sniper cleared the steps with ease, both hands going to the other man's shirt to keep him in place. "You ruddy bastard! I was clear about it! You give that back right now, you dipshit donga! If you've messed with it, I swear, you ratbag fucknuckle, I'm gonna—- "

He glanced down, feeling something brush against his thigh. If it was Spy trying to be cute… oh. No, it certainly wasn't Spy; it was a pair of desert hares. Huh. Hares were pretty tricky without a bit of experience. There was no way someone like Spy could manage it. Could he?

"…you snare those two, Spook?" he asked quietly.

"No." Spy said calmly, voice dripping with cynicism. "I asked them politely to jump on my knife and slaughter themselves. And since we all know rabbits are the most compliant of species, they decided to oblige me and commit suicide just because I'm that wonderful of a man." He shrugged the quiver off of his shoulder and held it out to the Sniper, a peace offering. "Yes, I 'snared' them. Not the most expert of kills, mind you, but it's a passable job. And if you _would_excuse me, I would like to get inside before the entire base comes wandering over to figure out why you were screaming."

He looked down at the hares thoughtfully, then back up at the Sniper. "I've lived a long while and I do not think I have ever heard a more colorful combination of swears before, Sniper. You win the award for the most ridiculous insults on planet Earth."

Automatically, Sniper snatched the quiver and bow back, checking over the entire thing as quickly as he could. No new nicks that he could see… he'd have to fletch some new arrows to replace the missing ones… but at least nothing was broken.

_"Snared_ them… like, with some twine?" Sniper clarified with a roll of his eyes, miming making a loop for a snare trap. The shafts that stuck out of their breakfast's bodies, however, lined up with the other man's sarcasm: Spy actually shot the hares with some fair amount of accuracy.

Huh.

Go figure.

"Yeah, well… you clearly didn't piss anyone off when you went an' visited th' Lucky country," he grumbled awkwardly, taking the offered hares. "S'more where that came from. Now, git inside, piker, before I make you clean th' hares fer breakfast… doubt yer 'sensible constitution' would stomach th' work all that much."

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'll keep my knowledge of hunting animals strictly to killing and killing only." He'd leave the skinning and cleaning to Sniper. This is a little too close to the nightmare he had where he wore Hidden's pelt as a mask.

He gave a shiver of revulsion at the thought and brushed the Sniper aside to head back into the man's van.

Sniper took the hares around the back to skin and clean the animals. He pulled the arrows from them and made a soft noise of surprise; both had been good shots, although he'd have to knap a new tip to one and the other shaft had been broken, rendering it useless for reuse, but the results were far better than he ever thought he'd see from a Spy.

Still didn't mean he was going to let the man get away with touching his bow, let along stealing it to take it out for a hunt without his permission.

Spearing the bloodied bodies, he sparked a fresh fire and set them over it to spit-roast them. Satisfied they'd be fine on their own for a little while, Sniper stomped his way back inside to scrub the blood off his hands.

Judging by the way Sniper was moving, it was reasonable to figure that he was still upset about the Spy's disobedience and thievery. Spy would have to tip-toe around him to avoid getting lectured- or worse, getting kicked out altogether.

He slunk over and adjusted the Sniper's table so he can properly sit down. His gaze is firmly fixed on the Sniper, wondering if the Australian's going to yell at him or not.

When he finished cleaning his hands, Sniper took his time checking over his bow and quiver. The careful consideration he was giving it wasn't just a show for Spy to realize how important it was - it really was that important to him. This was _his _bow; if the BLU Sniper was fine with letting the man mess with his own, then that was his business, but this was _his_ bow and _no one_ touched his bow.

Finally satisfied that there wasn't any sabotage or mistreatment that would warrant him sending the Spy to respawn sans breakfast, Sniper stowed his gear away.

Then, and only then, did he rounded on Spy and broke the silence between them.

"You EVER even THINK of TOUCHING my bow again an' I'll throw you out on your flat arse. You hear me, spook?" Sniper demanded, grabbing the other man by the front of his suit. He leaned over Spy, bracing a knee on the edge of the bench to keep himself upright as he invaded the other man's personal space. Nose-to-nose, he glared at the Spy and silently dared him to do anything. "I don't care how good you think you are or how fair of a shot those were, you do NOT touch m'bow, especially after I forbade you from it in the first place! You got it?!"

"It would be hard _not _to hear you." Spy protested, raising his shoulders defensively. "And I was _attempting _to-" He broke off. The Sniper looked mad enough to start skinning _him _if he didn't hear what he wanted to hear. Spy switched gears in an instant, going from defensive to submissive in less than a second. "Yes, Sniper. I've got it. Do not touch the bow or it's out of the van."

He was being completely, totally serious. Spy couldn't _afford _to lose this now, not when several peaceful nights of rest were at stake.

"Good."

Sniper released Spy's jacket with a forceful shove, pushing him over in the booth as he straightened up.

"You better believe I mean it. Every word of it. I won't hesitate either."

Milling around for a moment, he leaned back over, jabbing a finger at Spy's chest.

"You wanna show me what you can do, then you bring th' bastard's bow _with you_… you _don't_ touch _mine. _I'll take you out if that's really what you want, but you _never_ touch my bow. _Ever."_

The Sniper was standing his ground on this. His words were harsh, yes, but Spy'd gotten used to harsh words a long time ago; and he was even a little bit grateful bushman hadn't hit him yet. The BLU Sniper would've.

"I've got nothing to prove." He muttered under his breath, propping himself up on his elbows and forcing himself into a sitting position.

"If you didn't have something ta prove, you wouldn't have taken it in the first place," Sniper pointed out, jabbing his finger against Spy's chest again. The lack of yield only reminded him just how frail the other man was… "But, no. I told you not to even _touch_ it an' you went off and TOOK it. There's only two sorts that'll do that, an' you brought it back ta' me, so that means you had something to prove. Whatever it is, fine, I'll let you prove it, but you can do it with _his_ bow - _not mine_."

"I _wanted _to pay you back," Spy snarled. "I can't very well intrude on someone so thoroughly without paying them back. Keeping all these damn secrets that I've killed countless people for, not _just _letting me here, but feeding me too!" He folded his arms grumpily and glared at the table. "It's not fair to you."

"When have _you_ ever cared about things being _fair?"_ Sniper demanded. He grabbed Spy by the jaw and gently pulled his head around, forcing him to look at him. "When have you _ever_ cared about things being fair?"

Spy refused to look him in the eye- he kept his gaze firmly trained on the Sniper's chest. He refused to speak. He's not entirely sure why he's keeping himself mute- some mix of he didn't want to say anything more and he wasn't completely sure he could answer the Sniper's question without snarling or spitting out the answer.

"Bluey, look at me," Sniper ordered, his voice dropping to a low growl of command. It wasn't necessarily unfriendly, but it didn't leave any room for doubt: do it or the yelling would come back. "You're the sort to pull a gun in a knife fight, so why do you care about things being 'fair' between us?"

His eyes slowly meandered upwards too meet the Sniper's. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, as though he'd rather have Sniper's yelling back rather than give him a straight answer. "Because I don't want to be indebted to you. I hate accepting help, especially from an enemy. I'd offer anything if I thought it would get us back to equal footing. I owe so much already and I'll just be taking more as time goes on."

It was the raw look in Spy's face that made Sniper back off, releasing the other man's jaw as he slowly pulled away.

"Don't be stupid, spook. If somethin' happened to you, what would happen to Hidden? Huh? Maybe you don't remember, but I can't exactly take 'em in. It'd cost too much ta' ship him off somewhere good and, even if I did, he'd have ta' live the hard life of a working cat. Only met him once, but that hellish night-beast looked far too ancient to be a mouser… probably just strut around th' way you do, thinkin' he's better than the rest of 'em, bully th' others into doin' his work for 'im."

Sniper stuffed his hands into his pockets as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and finally offered a lopsided smile.

"You wanna pay me back? Make sure I don't have to look after that bloody nuisance."

The Spy gave a soft little breath of relief. "I'll make an attempt not to die on you, Sniper. God forbid you be shackled with some variety of responsibility." His voice shook. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

He doesn't wait for Sniper's say-so before the color of his waistcoat, mask, and suit pants shifts to a pinkish red. He hurried out of the van and closed the door behind him.

Sniper let Spy go, milling around awkwardly in the stillness. He started a pot of coffee, pulled a shirt on under his vest, and grabbed his hat - all details in his usual routine that had been spoiled by Spy's little 'good will gesture'. Despite what the other man had said, he was willing to bet that the Spy _did_ want to prove himself… the bow was no easy weapon to master and, for someone as skinny as the Frenchman _usually_ was, it was a wonder he managed to draw it, let alone hunt down a couple of hares in his current condition. He still didn't understand _why_ Spy wanted to learn, but if he felt the drive to, then he certainly deserved a chance to prove himself.

Just. Not. With. His. Bow.

Giving the other man as much time as he could, Sniper eventually had to wander out to check on their breakfast. The smell of still-cooking rabbit was a wonderful addition to the early morning and he couldn't help but lick his lips at the crackling hiss as the fatty juices dripped into the fire.

Spy was sitting peaceably on the ground, head tilted back to look at the morning sky. A lit cigarette curled smoke into the air. At the sound of the van opening he turned his head to give the Sniper a challenging glance. He'd all but given up smoking for Hidden's well-being, but he'd cracked and crumbled like an ancient wall being hit with a battering ram. His eyes wandered over to the roasting meal, then back to the Sniper.

"You may have given me dinner, but I've given you breakfast." Is all he says. The corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk.

"Well, big bloody whoop," Sniper shot back, unable to keep from letting out a short chuckle. He covered the sound up by snagging Spy's cigarette from between his fingers. "Crikey, this stuff is awful… don't you ever smoke anything actually… y'know… good?"

His complaint didn't stop him from taking a couple of draws before he returned it.

"Don't _you_ ever mind your damn business?" The Spy said smoothly. His words were flecked with annoyance. "It's an acquired taste, bushman." He stubbed out the cigarette and hunted for a brief moment in his jacket. He retrieved the small sketchbook he'd brought last time he was here and idly flipped through it.

There was more than just some of the stuff of his nightmares and his cat. Drawings of all the mercs littered some of the pages, along with notes written in French. He finally finds a blank page besides a half-finished drawing of his balisong. "Tend to your breakfast, bushman, I've got work to do." He grumbled.

The brief glimpses of his teammates had caught his eye and Sniper leaned over to try and look. What was Spy up to? Did he use his books for note-keeping as well as therapy? Talk about a golden opportunity to get a glimpse at what a Spy did…

He grabbed and pushed at Spy's mask, bunching it up over his eyes with one hand, and snatched the sketchbook out of Spy's grip with the other.

"Wot'cha got in this thing?" Sniper asked, flipping through curiously.

Spy snarled out a series of lengthy curses entirely in French, struggling to snatch it back. "-_Votre mère était un hamster et votre père avait une odeur de baies de sureau! __Give it back, dammit!" _

Detailed, detailed indeed. There was an entire section with pages that had a little black slash in the top corner- written in French with occasional English word like "Scout" or "Engineer" poking out.

And the _drawings. _Around the middle of the book was where it started straying into sickeningly detailed adult territory. For God's sake, some of it was _colored. _

Sniper braced his knee against the man's shoulder and held Spy down in place effortlessly; the other man had little to no leverage to get up and Sniper was leaning his entire weight down against him.

The French writing puzzled him, but he didn't bother to try and figure any of it out, especially when he found the more… personal drawings.

"…strewth…" Sniper nearly dropped the sketchbook as he swore under his breath. Two pages in and he dropped it anyways, unable to stomach the level of intimacy the details offered. Spy had spared no expense to commit image to paper when he rendered the sketches… had he been drawing as he _watched? _"The hell you playing at, Spy?!"

"I'm a sick, sick man?" He offered, attempting to wrench his shoulder free despite the futility of his efforts. "Not just physically, but mentally, too?" He's practically squirming beneath the bushman's knee, but he's not even close to strong enough to get loose. "I got so bored and lonely I had nothing to do but draw some of the more intimate exploits of both our teams?"

He jerked a little too hard and is rewarded with a surge of agony. That is enough to still him for now. "If you've done nothing but pet your cat and mope for forty-eight hours straight you would get desperate for something to do, too."

"Something to do, maybe, but not THAT," Sniper swore, looking down at the offending sketchbook as if it might come alive and try to bite him.

He didn't blame Spy for trying to cure his itch; heck, they were all men, they all had urges from time to time, there was nothing wrong about that, it was natural. And he didn't even blame Spy for being a bit of a voyeur; somehow, that just made sense, given the man's profession, that he'd get his jollies the same way he got his kills. But spying on folks in their most private moments was very different from making notes and pictures of them.

"…have ya tried… hookin' up with someone?" he asked awkwardly. "Or makin' the trek to town and saddlin' up with some… company?"

"If I _had, _then I don't think you'd be seeing so much of me." He gave a dismissive snort. "It's as simple as four words. I don't want to. I'm perfectly fine playing the sneak and I'll take what comes with getting caught." He squirmed a little more.

The knee's constant pressure felt like it was getting worse, and he wanted it off as soon as possible. "Most of it isn't even my actual observations of them. The disguise kit is quite handy if I've got a mirror." He paused briefly, allowing the information to sink in. "If enough interrogating, get the _hell _off me, before you break something. God knows I'll have enough to explain when I get back, and a broken collarbone isn't exactly going to go unquestioned."

It took a moment for the request to sink in and, when it did, Sniper slowly pulled away, as if uncertain about the man he was retreating from.

"So… y'loike gettin' beat up fer your peeping, then? That the… er… sort of thing yer… into there, Spy?" he asked awkwardly. Why he asked, he had no idea; with the way his morning conversation was going, it felt like the sort of thing to ask, no matter how stupid it made him feel. "Because I'm pretty sure you could find someone to beat you up fer your jollies… all you'd have to do is tell them about your kit 'n mirror… thing…"

The conversation would go down _amazingly _well, I'm sure." His voice was too flat to be sarcastic- just tired. "And as for am I a masochist? I'm not on the hunt for pain, nor am I as… Welcome to it as Heavy, but if pain is to be inflicted, I'll handle it." He slowly sat up, clutching one hand to his shoulder and wincing.

He tenderly swiped his thumb across his collar bone, testing it to see if anything was broken. Satisfied that all the knee would leave was a bruise, he turned his attention back to the Sniper. "Your breakfast is going to be burned if you don't tend to it." He pointed out lightly- a gentle attempt to change the subject.

Sniper didn't want to hear about the Heavy.

Sniper really, _really_ didn't want to hear about what sort of things the giant Russian did or how welcoming he was to whatever pain the Medic - because, really, who else? - inflicted on him. There was enough pain on the battlefield, he didn't see the need to make any more during what should be a 'fun' time; getting rough, yeah, sure, who didn't lose themselves in their passion, kick a little dust up when they had a good romp, but actual pain? Actual, real pain? Like, pain for pain's sake?

No thanks.

"A man that goes sneakin' 'round other people's places, drawin' pictures of their intimate parts an' moments, sounds like he's on th' lookout for pain to me," Sniper grumbled, but he walked over to test the hares. Damn, Spy was right - the meat was already cooked through and through. He grabbed them by the end of the skewers and handed one over. "Here, take this."

The Spy took it. Despite the enticing scent of it, he could feel his stomach turn in protest. Eating this early in the morning seemed like some sort of horrible crime that could only serve to make him nauseated. He turned his head away from it and decided to address the bushman instead.

"I'm not after pain, Sniper. If you punch me in the jaw right now I guarantee the only way I'll respond is by punching you in the nose and stealing your sunglasses."

He swiped the sketchbook, gazing down at it for a moment before tucking it into his jacket. "_Vous devez avez laissé cet seul." _He grumbled. Then, for Sniper's benefit, "You should've left this alone."

"Yeah, well…" Sniper couldn't help a crooked smile at the taunt. "You shouldn't be carrying something like that around. S'private."

He had no qualms about tearing into the hare; he normally only consumed a couple cups of coffee to keep him going, but Spy, in all his oddities, had been kind enough to bring him an offering, so he'd be decent enough to eat it. Sniper ate with abandon, tearing into the steaming meat with his teeth or picking strips apart with his hands, and sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand whenever the juices made his jaw too slick to dig in.

"…not too bad there. Fer your first catch, anyways," he tossed the compliment off casually without looking over at the other man. The faster he ate the hare, the faster he could get on with bagging up some scraps for Hidden, and the faster he could get rid of Spy. There was no match scheduled, so he wouldn't have to worry about seeing the other man until sunset. A whole day of trying to figure out what he was going to do with all this new information.

"I didn't expect any raggedy Australians to go poking through my things." Spy said haughtily, gaze fixed on the Sniper's mouth. He was devouring the Spy's catch unrestrainedly, and Spy had mixed feelings about it. He felt a wave of disgust at how carelessly the Sniper was eating, but a feeling of pride that was just as strong. He'd _killed _to provide the Sniper with that meal and the bushman was enjoying it. That was something, at least.

But would it _kill _him to show at least a little bit of self-restraint or manners?

"It's not my first." He admitted. "Our Sniper's been training me for months, do you honestly think this is the first time I've shot something? My first kill with a bow was a coyote." He paused in talking to fiddle with his gloves. "It's… It's a long story."

Pausing to take his time to tear off and chew over a bit of crispy skin, Sniper finally glanced over. He tried not to watch the way Spy fiddled with his gloves; it wasn't all that long ago that he was 'fiddling' with them too, and that wasn't something he wanted to be reminded of at the moment.

"It's a fat hare an' I'm not exactly rushin' off," he pointed out, licking his lips clean. "Go on, spook. I'm familiar enough with the local coyotes… they're not so much of a problem, long as yer smart about 'em; sorta like the state-side version of th' dingoes back home."

"This was before my mother died, before I'd broken my arm and gotten up the tree with you. My mother visited from France, and she'd brought Hidden with her. I left her to stay in the apartment she was renting briefly, and took Hidden with me out into some desert for some… 'Bonding' isn't the right word, but it's close enough." He confessed, keeping his voice low- not out of fear of being overheard, but out of embarrassment. "Hidden _loved _it. He chased after all kinds of lizards and rodents that came up to sun themselves. Coyote jumped out at him when he disturbed their den. Well, in my surprise, I shot. It was a clean, straight hit through the snout- funnily enough, the arrow held its jaws shut." He gave a tiny smile at the memory.

"I fetched Hidden, put his harness back on…" He cast a glance over to the Sniper. "Dogs aren't the only ones who walk on leashes, you know." He added, looking amused. "Finished the coyote off and brought Hidden back to my mother. Brought bow, arrows, and coyote back to our Sniper. I've got the pelt somewhere as a trophy, I don't remember where."

As he listened, Sniper slowed down, muffling his sloppy habits in the presence of a good tale. Maybe Spy was his enemy and maybe he was far too chatty for his own good, but Sniper was past all that by this point. The man - for better or worse - saw him as some sort of confessional where he could spill all his secrets in exchange for his sanity. If he felt free to share, then Sniper would make damn sure that he was available to listen.

After all, Spies weren't the only ones who could use intel.

However, it boggled his mind that Spy would feel comfortable enough to fly his mother in to see the desert parts of the states. Imagine if someone had found out at the time… imagine if someone from Mann Co. had found out at the time! Plenty of the mercs flew home in their vacations and breaks to visit their loved ones, but he had never heard of it happening the other way around! He'd rather have Medic pull all his teeth out of his head than let his oldies come anywhere near this hell.

Sniper did his best not to laugh at the idea of Spy walking his cat on a leash like some sort of posh pet, but a grease-spitting snort managed to sneak its way out.

"Bloody good shot," he finally commented, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Bet th' man was proud of ya, showin' up with a trophy an' an impressive story like that!"

"He was definitely… surprised. Although, for obvious reason I left bits and pieces out." Spy looked uncomfortable with the praise, scuffling his foot against the sand. "Hidden enjoyed the scraps I got out of it, too. Filthy work, gutting an animal like that, but he ate well for a while. Kept trying to shred the pelt, though." He tapped his finger to his chin in thought, closing his eyes lazily. "I think I gave it to my mother with the instruction to keep him away from it. Alas, I don't remember."

Perhaps he should fasten one of the pelts into a little tear-up toy for the dark little monster… it certainly sounded like it would keep the cat occupied and an occupied cat would be a happy Spy. He was starting to learn that. Spy wasn't just one man - he was a soul, split. The cat was the last of his everything and the way to seeing the man happy and healthy was through that cat. For better or worse, that cat was as much his responsibility as the man was.

This was becoming a bigger responsibility than he realized, especially since he couldn't very well be of any use to the cat as long as it was within touching distance, the ruddy dander factory.

"She was fine with yer job, then, was she?" Sniper found himself asking in the lull, tearing into the hare's insides. Something warm burst between his teeth and its juices oozed down his chin; he must have missed a bit of intestine when he was cleaning them out. Served him right for working when he was distracted and angry. Aw well, it was still fair eats. "Your mum, I mean. If you were followin' in yer da's footsteps an' she patched up yer dog bites… must of been one hell of a woman."

"Mmm." He murmured in agreement. "She definitely was; she and my father had met on opposite sides of World War One. The war was soon over, and they pursued a relationship." He turned up his palm- a lazier version of a shrug. "Old spies do not usually die dignified or quick deaths, but in her case…" He paused for a moment, as though pondering if he wanted to say more. "Poisoned. The new man my mother was seeing was already married- and his wife was the jealous type. I blamed and murdered the both of them, as said before."

He was speaking about it so _casually. _Like her death meant nothing to him at all. His tone was solemn, but there was no pain or regret in his voice. If he had felt agony over her loss, he'd gotten over it quickly.

"Piss, mate. M'sorry," Sniper muttered, resting his arm - and the speared meal - aside along his leg for a moment out of respect. Enemies in love… he couldn't help but reflecting on just how interesting it was that their son was seeking out his enemy for sanctuary, even when he had a Sniper on his own team.

One that was teaching him how to use a bow.

Not that he cared or anything.

Good for him.

"I got revenge." He said loftily. "Two lives for one, as it were." He cast his glance aside and made it clear he's not going to say anything more, and if Sniper tries to pursue the topic he'd better make himself scarce or he'd end up like the rabbit he was eating.

"Mm."

Sniper picked at his cooling meal, peeling off a bit of meat to pop into his mouth, chewing it over slowly. He eyed the other man for a moment.

"We've been over this, Bluey," Sniper reached over and lightly smacked the back of the other man's head; more of a playful, friendly gesture than an actual smack. "You starve yourself, you're doing him a disservice. I'll give you plenty of good stuff to take back, but if you try to feed him all of that, you'll wind up stuffing him like one of Truckie's turkeys… so you might as well start eating."

"You've got to be kidding me," He muttered, turning a little paler at the thought of eating anything so soon. Yesterday had stuffed him, and a plump hare as large as this is going to do it again. "I've made it a habit to not eat breakfast, Sniper." He mumbled, voice apologetic. "I don't think I _can _without making myself sick."

"You tellin' me you shot something you didn't intend to eat?" Sniper raised an eyebrow and shook his head at the other man. "…bloody figjam…"

Standing, he reached over, grabbed the skewered chunk of meat out of Spy's hold, and headed inside. If the man had told him sooner, he would have wrapped it up for the ice chest; instead, he had cooked it proper and now the fool had let it gone cold. It wouldn't taste as good the second time around, nor would it keep quite as well. Well, at least he'd have something to feed the man when he came back…

Sniper cut the cooked hare into more manageable chunks - maybe he'd cook up a stew, something like that would probably go down easier for the malnourished man - and wrapped them up, tying them off before he stored them away. A bag of bits and pieces had been stored under an overturned bowl to keep away the flies and that's what he grabbed before he made his way back out.

"Here." he said, thrusting the bag at Spy. "Food an' a night's sleep, like I promised. Now piss off before th' sun comes up proper."

"Gladly." Spy cloaked, and the bag vanished as well. He lingered for a little longer, until the Sniper started to head back inside, before murmuring a hasty thanks and departing.

Hidden would be pleased, Spy thought. Neither he or the cat could afford to be picky when it came to food, but other than the mouse he'd caught the day before, this is one of the best offerings he'd had in a while.

Sniper spent most of the morning catching up on his sleep until the sound of Soldier's bugle was impossible to ignore. He found little ways to keep to himself: tidying up the trash around his camper, shooting the crows that bothered the team's various birds, knapping and fletching new arrows for his quiver… napping again…

Alright, maybe he didn't really have all that much to do, but now more than ever, Sniper wanted to keep his team at arms length. If anyone got so much as a whiff that he was playing host to his enemy, well…

Just past midday, Sniper made a point of getting off base and trekking out to find some decent wood to whittle. Maybe a new project would take his mind and nerves off things. It'd certainly give him something to do while he waited for the sun to start going down.

Spy was keeping himself busy as well. Staying with Hidden, reading, and writing in some more into one of his journals. His entire life's story was laid out for all to see- Provided they spoke coded French, that was.

The code he was writing in was most laborious, and entries that would take ten minutes took thirty. Hidden was curled up beside him, tail-tip flicking and a grumbly, whining meow rising from him if Spy ceased in his petting. "Shh." He cooed softly, obliging his pet. After a couple more moments of nothing but a pen scratching against paper, he added, "You'll be without me another night, I'm afraid. But I will _always _be back in the morning, I promise."

He lazily glanced at the clock. "I still have a few hours with you yet."

Butting his head against Spy's palm as the man stroked him again, Hidden suddenly stiffened and drew back, the fur along his spine rising with distrust. He got to his paws and scuttling stiffly across the room to hide beneath the bed frame. The only hint that he was there was a soft hiss of displeasure and the glare of golden eyes.

The door creaked open a moment later, a finger-less gloved hand easing it open.

"…y'still that bad off?" BLU Sniper asked, drumming his fingers against the wood of the door as he studied Spy, eyes narrowed in bemusement. "Y'gotta sleep on yer floor now, Spoi? Ah suppose tryin' anne'thing when yer desperate, but that's jus' sad."

Despite the sudden intruder, Spy kept himself collected and calm. "You could've at least knocked." He shut the journal with a harsh snap and set it aside, getting easily to his feet. "And I wasn't sleeping. Or trying to sleep. I was writing; a skill which I'm almost certain has passed you by." He strode over to one of his bookshelves and slid the journal back onto the shelf. While over there, his gaze carefully meandered around the room, checking to see if there was anything he should hide in the Sniper's presence. He purposely rests one foot over the remnants of a rat when he turns back to his teammate.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked.

"S'cold, Spoi," Sniper scolded with a smirk as he strolled in. He lounged across his teammate's bed with an uncaring ease. "Haven't seen yah since th' start of yest'rday's match. Jus' makin' sure yah haven't passed out somewheres, Tha's'all."

He glanced over at the bookcase, noting which book was being put where, but didn't comment on it.

"Y'gonna come an' eat this time, Spoi? Y'know, if yah get much skinnier, I'm not sure I'll be able ta' take you out anne'more. S'hard ta' teach a man ta' hunt if he won't even eat what he catches. Pretty big sin of th' hunt, there."

"I'm busy." He said curtly. "I don't have time to indulge myself. There's work to be done." He silently arranged the books, anything to appear occupied. He wanted his teammate out as quickly as possible, even if it meant pretending to be doing something.

"I had dinner yesterday, is that not good enough for you?" He asked as he drew a volume from the shelf, flipped through it, and put it back randomly.

"No, Spoi, it isn't."

Sniper's voice had dropped the casual, amused air in favor of annoyance.

"Y'think I loike bein' out there, knowin' one of my teammates isn't doin' his job? How am I suppose ta' be takin' care of th' opposition when I gotta deal with th' RED Spoi an' Sniper? Y'job ain't that hard, mate… zap a sentry, stab m'double. Y'didn't make a single kill yest'rday or die a single death. I think y'weren't even fighin'; probably holed up somewheres, takin' a nap, unless y'jus' straight-up passed out."

He got up and crossed the room, grabbing Spy's waist roughly. His fingers dug into the narrow hipbone, pinching the shallow skin, as if to demonstrate just how poor the other man's health was.

"I'm a busy man too, Spoi," Sniper grumbled. "An' I ain't keep wastin' m'time, tryin' ta' teach you anne'more… not when all m'efforts are goin' ta' a pathetic bunch of bones that'll be replaced soon enough. So, unless you wanna be out of a job, I'd suggest becoming less 'busy' soon."

There are a number of retorts Spy could make. The first one that comes to mind is simply telling him to shut up and get out. The second is even less sophisticated: merely shoving the Sniper out. The third is to break, cave in, and accept the Sniper's help. Between the two Australians, he'd dare say that he would recover fast enough to get back into the swing of things before the end of the month.

"I do not plan on losing my job or dying yet." The Spy shrugged. He slid a final book back onto the shelf and turned to face the Sniper. "But I'll admit it if it pleases you, Sniper. I crashed yesterday. I lasted just long enough to drag myself into a secluded place before passing out. Does that satisfy you?"

He roughly shoved the Sniper away from him. "Because I take so much pleasure in making you happy, I'll oblige you. I'll go eat something."

Sniper took a step back, but it seemed more to humor the other man's efforts than anything. He studied the him for a moment, looking for something; he wasn't quite sure what it was, but there was something here he didn't like, something that felt… off. Even for his teammate.

"Yeah, Spoi, I think it _would_ satisfy me," he finally replied with a lazy nod, parroting the words back. "An' you better make sure wot you eat is gonna satisfy th' nurse too… man's fit ta' be tied if y'spend another battle bein' useless. Keeps talkin' 'bout takin' 'medical measures' or wot'ever. If y'don' won' that, then y'better do better."

"Great. So I've got not only an idiot hounding me over this, but I've got a psychopath as well?" Imagining it sent an unpleasant shudder down his spine. When the Medic had his mind set on something he got what he wanted; whether it be successfully hunting down a terrified 'patient' or satisfying his morbid curiosity with more sharp objects than should be allowed.

He didn't even _want _to imagine how the Medic would treat this.

Sniper's hand shot out, slapping Spy along the back of the head. It wasn't the same playful slap that the RED Sniper had given him earlier; this was harsh and painful, leaving a sharp tingling in the wake of the pain.

"Y'really oughta pick yer words better, Spoi," he warned with a growl. "Or I might be too much of an 'idiot' ta' help keep y'outta his lab."

He'd expected the slap to come sometime or another; he took the blow silently and unflinchingly, looking up at the Sniper in faint amusement.

The BLU Sniper still didn't get that he was needling him on purpose- casually throwing in tiny jabs with the intent of making him angry enough to storm off. The bushman wasn't too bright, but he should've expected some resistance against him simply barging in here; even if it was as passive as slipping in insults every once and a while. "I'm picking my words as I please, Sniper."

"If y'picked yer words th' way y'picked yer shots, mebbe you'd be better off," Sniper growled. His gaze shifted to the bookcase behind the Spy; now, which one had it been? "Yah'd think tha' a man with so many books woulda have better words ta' pick from…"

Spy backed up defensively, back to the bookshelf. This left the little bloody mouse bones uncovered; but he'd already had _one _Sniper take a gander at one of his hobbies and he did _not _need another. The look had not gone unnoticed, but he'd be damned if he'd let another Sniper peek at his work. "_Vous ignoriez peu sot. _All of them are in French, with some exceptions."

Sniper pressed ahead, smirking slightly. He wasn't exactly sure which book it was, or what was inside it, but what he _did_ know was that there was something the spook didn't want him to see.

Which meant he wanted to see it even more now.

"Pleadin' ignorant of th' language, Spoi? That's jus' piss-poor logic, even fer someone like you."

He pressed in even closer until they were nearly nose to nose, and then paused, glanced down as he stepped on what was left of the mouse. Sniper lifted his boot with a curious look at the mess. What was— was that a mouse? 'Was' being the operative word, apparently. Had he stepped on it _that_ hard? There hadn't been a noise when he trod on it… maybe it had been sick and starving, just like the room's owner was.

Maybe Medic needed to take a look at the man anyways, just in case it was something contagious.

"Seems loike y'got yerself a rat problem," Sniper taunted with a smirk, bringing his eyes back up to Spy's as he stomped his boot back down with a squelch. "Dun' worry, I got it fer ya."

The Spy had gone a couple shades paler, but stood his ground. Despite the gangly Australian's superior height and smug attitude, he refused to be intimidated or spooked into answering without thinking. He gazed coolly back into the Sniper's eyes, refusing to acknowledge the mouse carcass with anything but words.

"Clumsy hunting for one as skilled as you." He pointed out. "I'm surprised you didn't try to run five miles away and shoot it. That's your style, isn't it?"

That wiped the smirk off Sniper's face.

He swung - not at Spy, but to the right of him - and slammed his fist into the bookcase's frame.

"M'surprised y'didn' try an' hide from it. A Spoi like you?" He growled, his words as dark as they were biting. "Could be in danger of gettin' dominated by a little mite loike that."

Sniper finally backed off and crossed the room to leave, wiping his boot against the door frame as he paused.

"Better see yer skinny hide at dinner, spook," he warned. "Or I'll tell th' Doc that it's open season."

Damn.

That left him with choices: Either break the deal he'd made with the enemy Sniper or face the Medic's wrath. He wasn't sure which he feared more; the Sniper could completely refuse to allow him back but the Medic could also do a number of mentally and physically scarring activities. Like most everyone on the team, he had a healthy amount of fear and respect for the doctor.

He closed the door behind the Sniper and retrieved his journal from the shelf, slumping back onto the ground. Hidden padded out cautiously afterwards, and they resumed the lull they'd been in before the Australian's intrusion.

"I need to get a lock for that door." He murmured to the purring cat, halting his writing and looking up at the ceiling. "That nosy jarman could ruin everything." He blew out a breath, then started writing again, thinking aloud as he did so. "I've got an idea. After dinner, I could head to the Sniper's van and just say I got a little delayed."

Hidden stared back up at him, unimpressed with the idea. Why should he have to explain anything to anyone? Did he forget who he was?

Well, it didn't matter… he would do as he saw fit.  
>He always did.<p>

"Well, well… 'bout time you showed up, Spoi," Sniper's rumble was too rough to be a purr, but he tried, leaning over to mutter the words into Spy's ear as he sat down at the table. "Looks loike yer gonna git ta' keep yer health fer tonight… whatever's left of it, anne'ways."

The others watched him with varying degrees of wary concern and quiet curiosity. They seemed surprised to see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't welcomed.

"Nice ta' see you've got yer appetite back, son," Engineer offered encouragingly as he passed along a plate. The dish was heaped with food; limp and watery green beans rested in a heap beside an overly-generous scoop of butter-soaked mashed potatoes, where the only thing that seemed to be stopping the oily butter from spreading into a plate-sized lake was the grey, leathery-looking cuts of pork chops.

They had been losing recently and those results were reflected in the quality of their meals, but the Engineer always seemed to make sure no one went lacking. He was a vocal supporter of the Soldier's mindset: an army marches on its stomach.

Someone needed to tell him that an army couldn't march if it was in sick or in a food coma.

His stomach flipped unpleasantly. He would have to eat both this _and _whatever the enemy Sniper decided to cook. It would be a miracle if he could get through it without tossing it back up again- he could hardly eat Dell's meal, but getting politely through the bushman's would be hell.

"_Merci, _Engineer." He murmured. His first instinct was to take it and dash upstairs; eat everything that Hidden couldn't, then pass off the meat to the cat. The Australian sitting beside him was most certainly going to keep him here, though, and he didn't dare attempt to move from this spot anyway with the bushman's threat hanging over his head.

He ate as he always did- perfectly silent, perfectly neat, attempting to block out any of the team's side conversations. He started off with the bulk of the meal, neatly cutting the Engineer's pork chops into manageable bites. The smell was enticing, but just sitting here made his stomach squirm in protest.

The others - sans Pyro, who never joined the team during meals anyways - eventually settled back in to their own plates and conversations.

Other than the mindful glances of the Engineer, the watchful look of the Medic, and the constant stare of the Sniper, Spy was left alone for the entire duration. No one bothered to try and draw him into a discussion; they had learned long ago not to try and the recent changes in the man's mood had caused even the ever-friendly Engineer to give him some extra space.

He wished the Sniper would stop _staring _at him. It was uncomfortable, having that piercing gaze so firmly fixed on him. The Engineer had learned to mind his damn business, why not the bushman? The Medic was just as bad- he was probably mentally jotting down every move he made in an attempt to figure out _why _the Spy had been skipping sleep and meals. Spy hadn't breathed a word of his nightmares to anyone but the RED Sniper, but he figured the doctor had at least guessed at some point that bad dreams were the cause of his insomnia.

He set his knife aside once all of it had been diced into nicely sized portions and started eating. He wasn't eating as slowly as he normally would, but he was still moved neatly and silently. Forkful after forkful, attempting to focus on the actual consumption of his dinner rather than the taste. If he stopped to marvel at the flavor he'd be late; and punctuality was as important as actually getting there.

With the Engineer's cooking, eating without slowing down to admire it certainly a difficult task. It still amazed him how the man had managed to make every bit of his food taste like it'd been snatched from God's own dining table.

"Slow down there, mate."

There was a smile in Sniper's voice when he pinned Spy's wrist down against the edge of the table. "You'll give yer'self a belly ache loike that."

"Leave him alone," Engineer piped up, idly scolding Sniper. "Th' man's hungry, so let him eat. Isn't that what you've been buggin' him to do?"

"It ain't gonna do him much good if he chunders."

"So let him eat an' sort it out himself."

"I am sure I have some'zhing for an unset stomach," Medic offered, a little too eagerly. "If he should happen to become ill."

"Good food don't make a man sick."

"Oi! _Stuffin'_ yerself sick makes a man sick, no matter how ace th' food is."

"D'ink til eet goes down… s'why d'eh mahde booze," Demo offered helpfully, raising a bottle with one hand; his other seemed to be working to protect his plate from the sneaky fingers of the Heavy.

"_Vous êtes tous des imbéciles." _Spy grumbled, experimentally tugging to see if the Sniper was going to let him go. When it was evident he would not, the Spy jerked his wrist free. "I'll eat as slowly or quickly as _I_ like, bushman. As mentioned, there is work to be done and I plan on returning to it as quickly as possible." His voice grew a little harsher and snappish. "In short, Sniper, pay attention to _your _worries and not mine."

He returned to eating; sampling the potatoes before anyone decided to ask what this so-called 'work' was.

"Not havin' m'back covered _is_ m'worry," Sniper grumbled but didn't try to grab Spy a second time.

He turned his attention towards picking over his own food, stirring the individual elements up into the mashed potatoes and using the starchy side to keep things from falling apart when he brought it up to his mouth. It was interesting to note that he ate far cleaner than his counterpart - sure, he made noise as he licked his lips with abandon in lieu of using his napkin, but he didn't eat with the same messy gusto that his RED doppelganger did. He didn't tear into the pork chops or use his fingers to mop the juices up for enjoyment; he ate with purpose, but not passion.

"Come see me if zhere is a problem," The Medic said, but, other than his offer, the rest of them didn't seem too keen on continuing the badgering conversation. After all, a Spy's work was something that rarely involved them or required assistance and asking about it could put any of them in a position to suddenly find their weapons 'faulty'; it was best not to press too hard or ask too much.

They left him alone.

He was grateful for the absence of conversation; at least, addressed towards him. It let him concentrate on devouring what was in front of him. He alternated between bites of pork and bites of the butter-slicked potato. It was good, all right, and had he not known he was going to have a second dinner later he might've even been able to eat it all without slowing down for a moment.

He did, however, slow down. He reached a point where he had to set down his silverware to stop and take a brief break, staring queasily down at his food and imagining how damn _crammed _he would be once he was done with both of the meals that would be served to him. While looking for some way to put off eating for a little longer, his gaze flickered around the room. It lingered on the Sniper and Spy found himself observing the bushman's restrained way of eating in fascination. He thought that the RED's eating, while messier, was… better, somehow.

He couldn't ignore his food for too long, though. Reluctantly, he went back to eating.

There was a sudden disruption at the other end of the long table: Heavy had finally managed to steal one of Demo's pork chops, much to the Scot's displeasure. The Demoman had stood up sharply, knocking his chair down as he stretched over the table, grabbing the massive Russian by the collar of his shirt. Heavy used the position to snag the rest of the man's dish and held it aloft, gulping the plateful down as he ignored the other man's Scottish swears. The Soldier was yelling something both unintelligent and unintelligible as the Pyro took advantage of the distraction to light a chair on fire and the Scout dove for cover under the table. Sniper laughed at the uproar, leaning back in his own chair with a lanky arm braced over his gut for support, while the Engineer and Medic tried to separate the teammates.

Spy had seen a lot of things that had made him question the existence of a higher being. He'd _done _a lot of sinful things that made him question if a God would really allow it go unpunished. But this precise moment made him believe more than anything else that there was Someone up there. Someone who had taken pity on him.

His cloaking couldn't be heard above the din and no one was paying even an ounce of attention to him. He gave a silent thank-you as he slipped away, slinking back upstairs to his room. He snatched the journal his Sniper would undoubtedly look for, fed the cat, flipped off the lights, and bolted into the desert like the hounds of Hell were after him.

He felt a tiny sliver of guilt for leaving so early; and since he'd left a good quarter of the plate untouched he wasn't sure if the Sniper would carry out his threat and tell the Medic to go ahead and attempt to 'cure' him.

Outside of Sniper's camper van, an iron pot had been set up to hang over the fire. Something liquid bubbled inside and a meaty plume of smoke hung over the camp. The man in question was around the back, kicking wet sand over the bloodier patches of ground around his tanning rack to deter unwanted attention sniffing around in the night.

Spy didn't bother to look around for the Sniper. He was tired, he was late; he didn't have the time or energy to go hunting for the bushman. Besides, he was fairly certain the Sniper wouldn't leave his food unattended for too long.

He shifted into the RED team's Engineer and promptly sat down, panting quietly.

When the RED Sniper came around the side of his camper to give the pot a stir, he started a little and did a double-take. Talk about your bad timing…

"Truckie, I already told you ta' piss off," he reminded the man in a friendly tone. "This ain't gonna be much good fer a man of yer standards… it's more of a broth than a stew."

"I think I'll handle it." Spy's voice flowed from the Engineer's throat, and he offered a grin. He made the smooth shift from Engineer to Spy with a little plume of rising smoke.

He stared at the cooking meal with an appreciative smile. He dare not say that he'd already partaken in dinner once; Sniper had worked to make this and he was going to be polite enough to eat as much as the man gave him. "I think an Engineer disguise will be much more appropriate when hiding here- Your Spy isn't really the sort to be around you."

"Bastard," Sniper spat at the ground, but the word surprisingly held no venom. In fact, it was almost friendly… maybe even a little… impressed? No, not impressed, more like… conflicted.

He stepped around the seated Spy and used a hand towel to shift the pot's lid, stirring the contents. The bubbling liquid had a slightly greenish hue to it and, in addition to the chunks of meat that bobbed briefly to the surface as he mixed it up, there was a surprising amount of vegetable bits surfacing as well.

"Don't be showin' up here like him," Sniper was saying. "It might make more sense to a man like you, but it'll just cause trouble. Someone's bound to catch on when they see him outside and in at the same time. If you gotta be out here, do it cloaked; if you get tired of that, then keep yer arse inside. But don't be poppin' up 'round here like him."

"It was just this once," Spy protested, sitting up a little straighter. "You wouldn't very well know that I was here without a physical body, and if my voice came from nowhere it might…" He snorted into the back of his hand, fending off a giggle. "Spook you."

He just gave the other man an odd look. Had that… had he just made a _joke_? Spy, making jokes? Word-pun types of jokes? He'd expect it from a Scout, but… Spy?

"…you been drinkin', mate?" Sniper asked carefully.

"No." He looked slightly offended. "I'm not allowed to joke unless I'm intoxicated?" He gave a quiet, indignant snort. He's not sure what compelled him to make the joke either. Maybe he just _needed _a laugh- it's been so long since his last.

"What? No, I just…"

Sniper clipped his words short and settled for a shrug instead. Hearing the BLU Spy make a joke so casually like that, without any real barb or taunt behind it, was sort of weird. Not bad-weird, more like a funny sort of weird.

It'd probably be best that he kept the ice chest closed for the night anyways… just to be careful.

"Meal's just about finished. I'll go grab some bowls," He offered instead, settling the lid back on the pot.

Spy shrugged and laid down on his back, getting comfortable as he waited, folding his arms behind his head with a casual air. The longer he waits the better his chances of not vomiting up his meal are. The conversation after that would not go well, he was sure.

He hummed softly to himself as he waited for the bushman to return. He's not quite full yet, but he's close. He glanced at the pot again and shuddered. He's going to be nursing one hell of a bellyache.

"Hope you aren't gonna whinge about the hare this time," Sniper was saying as he re-emerged, empty bowls in both hands. They were of a decent size, certainly larger than Spy would have liked them to be, and, when Sniper ladled the food into them, he filled them both with as much as he could. "Chopped it up fer ya; had it goin' fer most of the day ta' try and keep some of th' taste fresh. Here— "

He passed one bowl to the Spy, the brothy liquid sloshing slightly when he dropped a spoon in as an afterthought. There was a slight, oily film to the surface, making it harder to see what had been mixed into the green-tinted meal.

"—-bottoms up, mate."

Without waiting to see how the meal would be received, Sniper lifted his own bowl to his mouth, using both hands to steady it as he tipped his head back and took slurping gulps. Broths weren't his favorite, but they were hard to mess up and made a pretty good staple when your diet consisted of what you could catch on your own. Even after he joined Mann Co., he never quite got used to the idea of a regular meal being served up on regular intervals. He didn't like relying on someone else to provide for him.

Except the Engineer.

Hell, with the wonders that man could do with food, he wouldn't mind too much if he had to rely on the Texan from time to time.

Spy exhaled a sharp, determined breath. He could handle this. Sniper had been keeping this at a simmer for a good while, he'd been working on it for mostly just Spy. He was a little touched, in all honesty. This was his _enemy, _after all.

He chose to be a little more dignified than the sloppy, enthusiastic chug the Sniper had started. He stirred it a few times before bringing a spoonful to his lips and swallowing it curiously. His eyes widen a little. "_Il vaut mieux que ce que j'attendais._" He murmured, surprised.

It's _good,_ by all means. It's hot but not scaldingly so and it has a particular tang that he finds himself enjoying. He's had broth many, many times before, (who hasn't?) but it's a wonderful surprise that the bushman has made it this well.

Pausing for a breath, Sniper wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked over at the other man.

"Was that a _compliment_ there, Bluey?" he asked, leaning over with a crooked, teasing smile. With all jokes aside, he sure hoped the Spy would be able to manage; between the meager meal Spy had the night before and skipping out on breakfast, it occurred to him that, maybe, the man was so far gone in his starvation that it wasn't that he didn't _want_ to eat, it was that he simply _couldn't._

So he spend the afternoon chopping the ingredients until they were more manageable by the standards of a weaker jaw and he kept the pot simmering all afternoon, making sure everything would be soft and supple by the time Spy came back around.

"That _sure_ sounded like a _compliment_…_"_

"You don't speak French," He snapped hotly, giving a soft huff. "For all you know I could've been calling you all sorts of profane names." He prayed that it was too dark for the bushman to see his face redden, and he returned grumpily back to his broth. It's good. Very good. Despite the weight of the Engineer's food already sitting contently in his belly, some part of him wishes for seconds. But he can't get ahead of himself; it won't be long before his stomach starts hurting from consuming too much.

He was still fairly certain he could handle seconds with minor difficulty. Would that be enough to satisfy the Sniper? Maybe, maybe not. The man could insist on more.

Despite the heat and saltiness of the broth, it's still mostly liquid. And he hasn't had anything to drink since his beer yesterday. _That _definitely coaxes him to down spoonful after spoonful hastily, and after a couple moments of gulping there's a warm, heavy feeling in his stomach. Satisfaction incarnate.

"Sure sounded like a compliment," he chuckled, but turned his attention back to his own bowl. By the time Spy had finished his, Sniper had polished off his first and second rounds. That was the only problem with broths and soups; even with everything that went into them, they had no substance to them. He was pulling the lid off the pot to serve up a third bowl for himself when he noticed Spy was done. "Want another, spook?"

The weight was settling nicely in his stomach. He'd anticipated a little fuller of a feeling, leaning towards pain- but all he can feel is his warm gut and singing tastebuds. It wasn't one of the best things he's ever eaten, but opposed to slightly charred hare and venison it's definitely the best thing the Sniper's made for him. He'd have to ask him to do it again sometimes.

"If you'd please." He offered his drained bowl out to the bushman.

Sniper took the bowl and filled it just as before, passing it over carefully so it didn't spill on the other man's suit. It was good to see the Spy finally eating; not picking at the food, not complaining, not having to be forced into eating or fed by hand, but willingly eating actual food.

He didn't say anything - heaven forbid he made a joke and put the man off his food by making him self-conscious in some way - but smiled to himself as he filled up his own bowl.

Spy's eating was usually somewhat restrained- slow, to allow him to eat so carefully and neatly- and while he hasn't completely abandoned all semblance of self-control, he's definitely slackened a bit. He was eager for more, despite the faint protests his stomach gave.

He murmured out hushed compliments in-between spoonfuls and gave little, appreciative noises every so often.

After a while, Sniper had set aside his own bowl in favor of watching the other man. So _this_ was what a Spy looked like when he was actually enjoying something other than stabbing people in the back…

"Might want ta' take it easy there, mate," he chuckled. "Could pop a button if you go too fast."

He gave a little snort through his nose, reluctantly pausing. "Thanks for the warning, but as thin as I've gotten, I don't think it'll be a problem." The instant his words left his lips he returned back to his broth.

It's more the taste and his own politeness spurning him on at this point. His stomach is past full, but he knows he can't stop yet.

Shit… Spy was _really_ into this, wasn't he…

Sniper's grin grew wider as watched. Spy wasn't just being polite and he wasn't just hungry, he was really into the meaty broth. Whatever he had done when he mixed it up, he had done it _right._

Getting up, Sniper refilled his own bowl, but rather than drink down a fourth one, he just held onto it, swapping it out for Spy's the moment the other man finished. It was sort of fascinating to watch the man eat - there was almost with a mechanical rhythm to his movements, every gesture done for the purpose of getting the warm meal inside him. It was almost hypnotic.

It was his third, but it felt like he'd had at least ten. His stomach was starting to twinge painfully with each swallow, reminding him viciously to take it easy. He'd already had two hearty bowls plus a Texas-sized dinner, and he told himself a bowl ago that he would stop.

He can't. Not yet. He's not done. He's got at least this other bowl left in him, and just a glance over at Sniper told him the other man was delighted with Spy's choice to stuff himself.

He got about half-way before he has to stop himself to take a breath and lie back for a moment. He's eaten more than this before, but he was almost certain he's never had this much in his entire history of Mann Co. He's never been fond of eating more than necessary to perform well on the field- fat has never been a desirable feature and he'd grown up on small-portioned meals, despite his parent's ample amount of money.

"Y'not done, are ya?" Sniper asked curiously, shifting to sit beside the other man. Spy might as well be; given the way he was slumped back, the jacket on his suit was pulled tight across his skinny body, and it was pretty obvious that the man's stomach was stuffed just as tight. "Maybe you should give it a rest, Spy. It's broth… it'll keep."

"I think this should probably be my last bowl." Spy nodded slowly, hunching back over his broth protectively. "I don't think I can stomach any more… Your counterpart demanded I have dinner before I came here, and I think it was a mistake to persist in eating afterwards." He brought a spoonful to his lips and swallowed, grunting softly at the small spike of pain his stomach gave in response.

"Oi!"

Sniper stuck a hand over the bowl, spreading his fingers out across its maw to keep Spy from taking another spoonful.

"Hey now… why didn't ya' say that before, spook?" he asked, his expression twisted in a look of annoyed concern. "Stuffin' yerself stupid isn't th' way to do it. Bloody piker… y'lookin' ta' chunder? Gimme that!"

Tugging the bowl free from Spy's grip, he slurped the remains down - no sense in wasting it - and set both bowls off to the side.

"Yer jus' gonna make yerself sick, eatin' meals on toppa meals like that. Wot were you thinkin', mate?"

"I was _thinking _that I could handle the remainder of that bowl." Spy grumbled. "You'd already made the broth, what was the point in not eating it? I've encountered far, _far_ worse than a _stomachache." _He punctuated his words with an annoyed snort.

"Besides. Our Sniper threatened to turn me over to our Medic if I didn't join him for dinner, and it's impolite to refuse meals offered to you by a host. Especially ones that taste that magnificent."

"An' I'm sayin' that you couldn't have," Sniper pointed out, lightly jabbing a finger at the swollen lump of a stomach that pushed the man's jacket away from his skeletal frame. "Eatin' a plate of food, then downin' three bowls of th' stuff? You coulda stopped at _one,_ Bluey. The point of lookin' after ya' is ta' make sure you eat an' sleep, not stuff ya' to th' bloody gills."

He couldn't help a satisfied smirk from lighting across his face.

"…so it really _was_ a compliment after all, then?"

Yes, it was a compliment." Spy sighed impatiently. "And while I admit I could have stopped at the first, it's been a long, _long _time since I've been properly full. What's that stupid expression Scout keeps using? 'Go big or go home'?"

Sniper snorted.

"Yeah, that sounds like somethin' a Scout would say," he agreed with a laugh. He gave Spy's belly another prod, feeling the lack of give, and drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the tight suit. Starving men have been known to stuff themselves stupid and then chunder it all up… he wasn't about to let that happen, not when the other man was finally making some progress. "Come on, git up, Spy."

"Hands off," He instructed, playfully swatting the Sniper's fingers away. He was comfortable with where he was sitting; reluctant to get moving despite the promise of a softer, more sheltered place to rest.

He heaved himself to his feet, swaying slightly, and grunted. He really _is _a little stuffed- it's a little more noticeable now. All of the food comes with a slight distention of the belly, the tightness of his suit exaggerating it somewhat.

It occurs to Sniper that the Spy must have come straight from his team dinner, considering he didn't take the time to change back into one of his more 'relaxed' outfits. Seeing him in his usual battlefield attire was a little strange considering his relaxed attitude, but he was getting used to that. It wasn't all that much different from seeing Spy in his nestbox.

With a hand to the small of Spy's back to keep him from tipping over, Sniper chuckled and helped push the man up into his camper.

"Try an' get cozy, spook," he teased. "I'll jus' take care of things out here."

Leaving the door propped open for the benefit of the cool evening breeze, Sniper wandered languidly over to the fire. The flames were smothered by little kicks of sand - not too much, though, he wanted the embers to retain some of their heat. If he could keep the liquid in the pot from congealing overnight, then he could probably salvage some of this. If not… well, spread it over a bit of damper and it probably wouldn't come back up on you.

Probably.

The instant the Sniper left him, he started unbuttoning his jacket. It would do well to relieve at least a _little _of the bloated feeling.

He slung the jacket over his shoulder, debated whether or not he should try and stay awake longer, and adjusted the Sniper's table to better fit his needs. As he collapsed onto the table he mindfully kept himself on his back, although he much preferred sleeping on his side.

Closing the door behind him as he stepped inside, Sniper paused to survey the sight in front of him. With Spy flat on his back, it was pretty obvious just how much he ate. His bony physique only made his stomach look all the more distended, as if the man had swallowed something solid and whole.

There was something satisfying about the fact that it was his food that had laid Spy up like that, no matter how uncomfortable the man seemed.

"Crikey," Sniper murmured with an amused grin. "Look at you… you are _stuffed,_aren'tcha."

"Shut _up._" He grumbled, but nothing in his voice sounded particularly mean-spirited. "I regret it enough, I don't need a reminder." He gave an annoyed snort, staring at himself for a moment before glaring up at the Sniper.

"I blame you and your doppelganger for this. I will never trust Australians ever again." He gave a dramatic sigh and closed his eyes.

"Y'should never trust an Aussie anyways," Sniper taunted. "We're pretty practiced at slicin' up snakes."

Noticing Spy had neglected to pull out any of the bedding - the man's stomach must be aching pretty fierce for him to forget conveniences - he grabbed the pillow and blanket. Temptation told him to just throw them at the lounging Spy for laughs, but an uncomfortable, digesting gurgle set the thought aside.

"…bloody figjam," he chuckled fondly. "Come on, Bluey."

Sniper didn't give the man a chance to react; he leaned over him instead, one hand slipping behind his masked head to lift it, while the other slipped the rolled up blanket beneath his head and neck. He rolled Spy over on to his side, fitting the pillow beneath his bloated stomach to cushion it from the hard surface beneath.

"Don't you know anythin' about a stomachache? Course not… y'probably never ate so much in yer skinny life t'give yerself one," he teased as he walked over to grab a quilt to cover the man. "Lyin' on yer back like that's only gonna make it worse in th' morning."

Like you're the expert?" Spy shot back, holding back a groan and resisting the overpowering urge to roll onto his back. "You're just as scrawny as I was."

Despite the Spy's protests, the bushman _does _know better than he in matters of food and hunting. He's probably slept off several stuffed bellies before in this very room.

"Eat enough rotten or raw food enough times, you learn," Sniper chuckled, shaking the quilt out. Several small lizards dropped from its folds and scurried off to hide somewhere safer. "Cookin' doesn't exactly come with a book, y'know. Takes a bit of trial an' error ta' get it right th' first couple of times."

"What about a cook b-" He abruptly broke off with the realization that he didn't care much for arguing with the Sniper, and instead he gave a quiet "hmph". He rolled over onto his other side, taking the pillow with him.

"Got a whine stuck in yer throat, Bluey?" Sniper taunted, draping the quilt over the prone form. He couldn't help but give Spy one last tease and he reached over to rub the man's swollen stomach. "If yer gonna chunder, do it outdoors, mate. I'll string you up by yer fancy shoelaces if you let loose in here."

Spy flinched at the first touch, but slowly eases. "I've got no intention on doing so." He grumbled. "I'll manage, Sniper, don't worry; and even if I do it's not like it'll make this place look or smell any worse." He tugged the quilt a little more firmly over his shoulders.

"_Faites de beaux rêves,_ Sniper." He murmured.

Chuckling, Sniper gave Spy's covered form a light swat with his hand and left the man alone to try and rest. Poor idiot… stuffing himself like that was a pretty poor move, considering how little had been eating.

Still, he stretched out in his own bed with a self-satisfied smirk.  
>Anyone could teach a skill with enough time, patience, and effort; not everyone could made someone like Spy willingly stuff himself stupid.<p>

A point to the RED team.

Spy shifted slightly in an attempt to get comfortable; his new size would take some getting used to. Fortunately he only had to put up with for a little while longer; while he was sleeping he'd digest it all properly and thankfully return to normal. Spy gave a whiny huff and closed his eyes. His breathing eased and slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep.

When Sniper woke up, he forwent his usual routine of hat and boots when he slipped down off his bed to set up the coffee maker.

He wasn't being _quiet_ or anything like that; no, he was just feeling a bit… achy. That was all, it was an ache in his joints that needed stretching out. And he very well couldn't stretch it out in here, now, could he? But letting the door slam would be bad for the hinges, so he had to close it… softly. He wasn't being quiet, just careful.

Sniper stretched his arms up over head, popping his back comfortably, and checked on the pot. Things weren't looking too bad… a bit of brekky wouldn't be too hard on the other man, so he stroked the fire back to life.

Inside, Spy was fast asleep. Slumbering peacefully, completely at ease in the heart of his enemy's home. He'd stirred once during the night but had almost immediately slipped back into a deeper sleep.

Other than his soft, virtually silent snores, quiet gurgles and rumbles had sounded during the night as his stomach laboriously digested everything the Spy had foolishly stuffed himself with. It was an oddly peaceful scene- Spy curled up beneath the blanket, knees drawn towards his belly; gentle snores and burbles quietly breaking the silence of night.

Sniper had to admit: it was a pretty sweet scene.

He had wandered back in to grab his morning coffee and, two cups later, found himself still standing there, leaning against the side of the camper, watching the man sleep.

"Bluey… you keep sleepin' in like this, we're gonna have some troubles," he chuckled, finally setting the mug aside. "Come on, mate. Get up."

The man didn't stir. Alright, fine, that was good; meant he was getting the rest he needed, right? Only problem was now it was time to get up.

"Shift it, Spy. Yer not havin' a layabout."

Still nothing.

"Mate, I am gonna dump a bucket of cold water on yer ruddy mask-covered head if you don't get up right now."

Huh.

Well, he had given the man fair warning… except, it almost seemed a shame to startle him out of such a peaceful slumber. Especially when he could really mess with the guy's head.

Stretching out low behind him, Sniper reached a hand under the blanket and laid it across Spy's belly. The meal had settled well, but there was definitely a change in his physique. On most people, a couple of meals wouldn't have done much than add a pound or two, but Spy had been so far along towards starvation that even a single night's indulgence had made a difference. Well, good. The road to recovery might be a long one, but at least there was some progress.

He rubbed gently and his fingers found warm skin between buttons. It didn't take too much effort to slide the buttons free, opening up a bit of the man's shirt. Huh… felt like Spy actually had a bit of hair on him. Who would have guessed?

"Hey, Bluey," he murmured into the other man's ear as he spread his fingers across the warm skin. "Belly still achin'?"

Spy responded with a quiet, hazy groan, and struggled to shake off the bleariness of sleep. It didn't take long; the Sniper's touching, as gentle as it was, was definitely enough to clear away the sleepy fog that clouded his mind. His instincts kicked in as soon as he processed that there were cold fingers resting on his stomach. It'd been drilled in him that waking up with hands in any vital area- whether it be head, neck, chest, belly, or even lower- was never safe. He lashed out from complete impulse, taking a guess due to the Sniper's voice, but missed.

It took a second to calm down and realize the Sniper meant him no harm. While he stopped attempting to strike the man, he still gave an annoyed whine and rolled onto his stomach, away from the man's fingers. He's satisfied to find he's not so full that lying on his belly hurts. "Your hands are cold, bushman." He complained. "Warm them up and then you can touch."

"Fer a man who complains 'bout bein' lonely, y'sure aren't too friendly," Sniper laughed, tucking his arms behind his head. "Or is that part of yer morning attitude? Y'don't eat an' y'don't smile?"

He glanced over. Spy's stomach must not be bothering him too much; not if he was able to roll over onto it.

"Come on, Bluey… yer not havin' a layabout jus' because there's no battle." Sniper rolled up and got to his feet. "Up, mate."

"Anyone who can smile this early should be thrown into a mental hospital." He grumbled, languidly hauling himself to his feet. He looked rather disheveled- unbuttoned dress shirt hanging limply on his thin frame, his eyes bleary and sleepy. He rubbed one with the back of his palm and stretched, yawning loudly.

"What time is it, you defier of normal Circadian rhythm?" He mumbled, fumbling with the buttons in a clumsy attempt to re-do them.

"Bit before four," Sniper replied automatically. He wasn't thinking about the question, though; he reached over and pulled Spy's hands away from himself. Undoing the rest of the buttons, he pulled the shirt open to get a proper look at the other man.

The couple nights of sleep had done Spy well. His pale skin had lost its sallow pallor and, even the man still looked like a walking skeleton, at least he didn't look like Death was following after him. Sniper wondered how long it would take for him to start looking fit for duty. Perhaps he should ask the Engineer to fix up a few of his feast-like meals, encourage Spy to stuff himself some more…

"_Non, _Sniper. " Spy protested, attempting to slip his hands free from the Sniper's grip to get back to dressing himself. "_I_ have to go see whether or not our Sniper told our Medic to go hounding after me, and I am not doing it shirtless. That would spark a conversation I don't want or need."

"Wot?"

It dawned on him what Spy probably though he was trying and Sniper quickly put both hands up as a sign that he'd leave the man alone.

"No, mate, it wasn't… jus' want ta' see how you were lookin', that's all. Last I saw of you was a couple of days ago an' you were looking like a walkin' corpse back then. Doin' bit better now. S'good sign."

Spy raised an eyebrow in questioning but decides to shrug it off. "With all I ate yesterday," He muttered, fingers working quickly on each button, "Was there really any doubt I wouldn't look a talking skeleton?" He gave a disdainful snort and looked around for his jacket. He smoothed it out over the table before shrugging it on and buttoning it as well.

He kneeled and adjusted the makeshift bed back to its original state. While he's working, he gives a shudder as an unpleasant thought comes to mind.

"Do you have any ideas on what I _should _do if he's sent that so-called doctor after me?" He had his own ideas on what to do, but he wanted a second opinion.

Sniper shrugged.

"Yer a… hard man ta' find when y'want ta' be, spook," he replied, trying hard not to sound like he was paying the man a compliment. "I'd say, do what y'do best: crawl in some hole like a snake and hide."

"The Medic's going to be checking all the good hiding spots." Spy grunted, adjusting one of his gloves and dusting off his suit. "Ah well. I'll ask our Engineer whether he's looking for me or not after breakfast."

"Can't you jus'… y'know… go invisible fer a while?" Sniper pointed out. Even if he couldn't surely one of his teammates would be willing to harbor him, right? Sure, everyone on his own team didn't exactly see eye to eye all the time, but when the RED Medic was in a mood, no one thought twice about helping each other out…

Were the BLUs really that dysfunctional as a team?

No wonder Spy was hiding here.

"He's not going to give it up until he's got me on an operating table." Spy muttered. "I'm fairly certain yours is just as annoyingly persistent."

He shrugged. "But let's not dwell on that. It's time for breakfast and I'm almost certain you have something preparing outside."

Sniper just nodded silently. He wasn't about to offer to hide the man any more than he already was, he wasn't about to offer up some sort of sympathy; if that was the end of it, then that was the end of it. He'd let it be.

Stepping out first, Sniper glanced around to make sure there was no one having a walkabout - even at this early hour, you could never put it past someone to do something stupid when you had men like Soldier in your camp - and then checked on the broth. It was more like a porridge now, thick and congealed from an overnight's cooling. Still smelled fine, though.

Spy unceremoniously dumped himself onto the ground in the spot he'd been in yesterday. He attempted to regain some of his dignity by hastily cloaking.

His broth isn't going to taste as good as it did yesterday, even a fool would know as much, but it hardly mattered. Unlike yesterday, he's eating because it will supply him with the necessary energy to make it through the day- not for the sake of being polite or for the taste.

"Try startin' with that," Sniper teased as he set Spy's bowl down off to the side. "An' see if y'can keep it down."

He served up a bowl of his own and stirred a finger through it. Hot, but not scalding, and thick enough to cling to the digit as he pulled his finger free. Huh… sorta stuck to his finger pretty well, actually… Sniper gave his hand a shake, scattering droplets of the goop. Well, at least he knew it'd stick to the man's bones!

The mixture was too thick to drink, so he dug out a spoon for himself and dug in. It was pretty… chewy. But it still tasted half-way decent, so he was sure it'd stay down.

Spy wasn't particularly fond of breakfast. He also was not particularly fond of leftovers. Combined to form this questionable, mushy mess, he thought this 'breakfast' would have a much higher risk of making him vomit than everything he'd had yesterday.

He took back what he'd said before. He's absolutely doing this _only _to be polite.

Sniper packed away a bowl of the stuff into his stomach and came to the conclusion that he'd leave the leftovers to his guest; coffee was still the better way to go. It warmed you up, woke you up, and didn't weigh you down the the sluggishness a decent meal could.

Or the discomfort a… whatever sort of meal this was.

"S'ain't so bad," he suggested to the invisible guest. "Once y'get most of it down. Still, certainly don't think it'd let itself get turned into a liquid laugh, so you'll be fine."

Spy started muttering French and English curses under his breath, sprinkling in some choice words from other languages as well. Reluctantly he hunched over his meal and started eating, staying invisible in the process. It was fascinating to watch- the thickened broth seemingly vanishing off the face of the planet every time the spoon was brought up to the man's invisible lips.

The taste was okay. Better than he'd been expecting from what looked like some of the most unpleasant food on this side of the Earth. He was grateful for at least that mercy. The smell was fine, too- but the texture nearly made him gag at his first sampling. It would've been a little better if it were cold- but it was _warm, _chunky, and slimy. It felt like vomiting in reverse.

He managed a few bites before he had to stop. "How the _hell _did you eat an entire _bowl _of this?" He demanded.

Sniper shrugged good naturedly at the question.

"Not everyone gets to be as picky as you are, Bluey," he teased in return. Maybe it was just the overdose of the amount of time they were spending together, but Spy's barbed remarks didn't seem to hold the same sting that they used to. He sure hoped that wasn't a sign that the man was taking a turn for the worse…

Sniper would hate to have his best enemy be replaced.

Of course, the man had a point; the food was terrible. It was still food, though, so he could manage to get it down. That didn't mean he'd be having seconds, though. Bait would be a good use for it… or maybe he could mix it up with something else and throw it at the BLU Scout the next time they were in a match. Something as thick and sticky as this would certainly slow the ankle biter down!

Spy snorted in response. "Not everyone likes getting poisoned by their food, either." He shot back. "This is the kind of thing only Soldier's raccoons would be desperate enough to eat; and maybe not even them." And himself, of course- even while he continued to gripe and groan about it, he was taking bites in-between sentences.

"S'not poisoned, spook," Sniper tapped his spoon against the side of his bowl thoughtfully. Hmm… he forgot about the raccoons. Nasty things got into everything and Soldier wouldn't be too kind if he wound up trapping a few by mistake. Aw, well, look like the Scout was going to be really unlucky next match! "If you don't want it, then you don't have to eat it, yer always welcome to stomach whatever grub they feed you over on yer own team, you know."

"You already got me a bowl." He snorted. "Contrary to what I'm sure you believe, I'm not one to waste food either."

He managed to eat all of it, only gagging once or twice in the process. Quite the feat, considering what he'd had to stomach. "Besides. I _still _feel full after yesterday night, and trying to get both yesterday's dinners and the Engineer's grease-dripping Texas breakfast down will undoubtedly result in vomiting it all up again."

"Wait a mo…"

Sniper's brow furrowed as he dropped all pretenses and looked over to where Spy's voice was coming from.

"If yer team is making you eat, then why did you ask _me_ to feed you? I wouldn't have bothered if you had told me they were makin' sure you've been eating…"

The bowl seemingly floated into the air as it is set aside. Spy took his time in answering the man's question, considering it thoughtfully. "While I respect the Engineer and enjoy his cooking, his portions are a bit… extreme. And his food a little too… American. I'd prefer your cooking over what he makes, despite how much _better _his food is than yours."

Sniper stared at the bowl, unsure of what to say.

No, he knew what to say:

"I'll start makin' less."

The question wasn't what there was to be said, the question was what he was suppose to do with the other man's words. Spy had been forthcoming about his - well, Sniper was loathed to call them this - 'feelings,' but he never really took them all that seriously. It was the BLU Spy's problem; it wasn't something he was involved in. Sure, he had humored Spy and played along a little, gathering intel on the man, teasing him, but… it wasn't like any of it really _meant_ anything. They were enemies and they were supposed to find little oddities to tease each other with.

But Spy was ruining that. He was making it sound like there was something about all of this that was more personal than it really was. Professionalism, not personal; that was a crucial distinction that needed to be maintained between them.

Maybe a little less teasing was needed.

"'Less' isn't what I need." Spy said in a huff. He got up, stretched, and momentarily shut off the cloak, oblivious to the Sniper's thoughts. "In case _you _hadn't noticed, I'm still thinner than a famine victim. I would go to the Engineer for his outrageous portion sizes in this matter, but the Engineer's food is grease, _smothered _in grease, then dipped in a nice vat of more grease. While I can't entirely agree with your… Somewhat _barbaric _way of cooking, at least it's got a semblance of healthiness buried inside it. Eating the Engineer's food too often is a good way to grow obese or die of a heart attack."

"Look, I'm flattered, but if he's makin' you eat and you come back this way to eat even _more,_ you're gonna wind up gettin' sicker than you already are. You can't go from starvin' to eating banquets every day, mate; you just _can't,_ that's a good way to wind up in the medi-bay."

Sniper scratched his neck and ran a hand up along the back of his head, combing his fingers through his hair.

"You can't be skippin' meals over there, though. They'll start to ask questions," he sighed. "Maybe… could you talk with th' man? See if you can't work something out?"

"Wouldn't be too hard to ask him to make dinner for me every other day." The Spy shrugged. "Or, if you'd really like, I could eat there instead of eating here at all." If that was the case, he'd still find himself occasionally skipping meals. His current schedule didn't allow for too much time with Hidden, and the cat was the center of his entire life. The way he'd _come _into such a state of disrepair was neglecting his own needs in favor of nourishing his own pet and refusing to sleep because of nightmares involving said pet.

"Speaking of starting to ask questions," He murmured, looking towards the rising sun, "I best be going soon."

"I'll make food for you, if that's what you'll eat, but I won't help you make yer'self sick," Sniper replied, picking the bowl up from where Spy had left it. He took both bowls inside, leaving Spy to leave on his own accord.

But when Spy made it back to his own, pre-dawn lit bedroom, it was to three realizations:

Someone was already in his bed.

That someone was the BLU Sniper.

And he was looking even more smug than before.

"G'day, spoi. Out fer an early mornin' walk?"

Spy's heart almost stopped. It missed a beat, then resumed at breakneck speed, adrenaline shooting through his body with the primal urge to flee or fight. But while all of this was happening on the inside, he hardly batted an eye as he walked back into his room.

Did he know?

No. Perhaps not. Hidden would've had the foresight to hide under the bed, in the closet, something. The cat had a powerful distrust and dislike of anything and anyone that wasn't Spy or prey.

"What is it to you?" He asked calmly, strolling in like he hadn't even noticed the Sniper.

"I came ta' talk with ya', 'bout yer _problem,"_ Sniper drawled, drawing his legs up so his boots were firmly planted on Spy's bed. He had pulled the blanket and top sheet back when he had climbed in, and seemed to make no qualms about dirtying up the rest of his sheets. "But y'were gone, Spoi."

His eyes tracked the other man through the dim lighting, his gaze as sharp as ever.

"In fact, y'weren't here last noight either."

Hunter's eyes, just looking for an opening to pounce on.

"Now, where might you have been, Spoi?"

"There's not many places to _go, _Sniper." He said, voice matter-of-fact. "Empty land for miles in every direction; and without a car I'm stranded in this hellish place. So if I were to take a guess, I'd say I was probably in the desert." He leaned against the wall besides his bookshelf, crossing his legs in a casual manner.

He gazes critically at back the Sniper, looking rather displeased. "You're dirtying my bed, bushman. Get your feet off it, even one as uncivil as you should know that's a blatant sign of arrogance and disrespect."

"Why don'tcha come over here an' make me."

Sniper's already smug grin widens in a toothy look, as if to say that they both knew that Spy would never even try, and he crossed his arms beneath his head, making himself all the more comfortable.

"Y'walked th' desert all noight long, Spoi? Without bedding or gear or even a hide ta' show fer it? Makes me think y'might be lyin' ta' me, mate… an' that makes me wonder: wot might a Spoi loike you be doin' ta' feel loike he's gotta lie 'bout it?"

"My _job _is built on lying." His voice adopted a bored tone. "Perhaps I've lied so many times it's become habitual." He took a journal off the shelf and leafed through it, speaking casually as he did so. "Maybe I spent last night wildly partying by myself on the roof. Maybe I spent last night trekking out into the desert for no reason other than to get as far away from the Medic as possible. Maybe I went into the desert to take a look at the stars, and was murdered and replaced by the RED Spy." He gave a tiny noise of satisfaction once he found the right page.

"Ahhh… Where did I put that damn pen…?"

Sniper barked out a laugh of amusement and rolled over, using the momentum to get to his feet.

"Th' RED Spoi? You? Yeah, sure, roight, I'll believe that one. Yeah, an' mebbe ya' spent th' night in their base, blowin' 'em fer information, hey? That the sorta thing Scout's gonna say when y'offer th' same sort of lies ta' th' others?"

He chuckled to himself as he languidly crossed the room, drawing close to his teammate.

"There's no need ta' lie ta' yer teammate, now, is there?" His voice rumbles in Spy's ear, low and pleasant, despite the threat of a bite that lies behind the warm tone. Sniper's hand reached out, his knuckles rubbing against the other man's temple, like he was scratching an itch for his friend's benefit. "Hey, Spoi?"

Spy was frozen for a good, solid couple of seconds. There are lustful stirrings from hearing that voice; it's a rich, wonderful growl that he'd grown rather fond of hearing.

It's so _similar _to the enemy Sniper's that he half-expects to hear the stupid little nickname. He almost gives in and confesses, as well; he's so used to _obeying _that voice… He scolded himself harshly for even _thinking _about answering the Sniper. He has much more restraint than that, doesn't he? He's not going to admit where he was, not even at the risk of torture.

He gave a grunt of annoyance and harshly pushed the Sniper aside with his shoulder. "I've got _work _to do, bushman. Take your interrogations somewhere else." He crossed the room, heading towards his dresser. He set the book down, keeping a firm hand on it, and started digging around both in the suit jacket's pocket and in his pant's pocket. He set down his balisong, his revolver, the Dead Ringer, before giving a pleased rumble and retrieving an ornate fountain pen.

The pause didn't escape Sniper's notice and he let Spy brush him off, grinning to himself as he took a couple of stumbling steps back. He didn't need to push to prove he had the man dead to rights. Whatever secret Spy was harboring, it must be a good one… something personal…

That made him want to know it even more.

"I'll go," Sniper rumbled, his smirk audible in every word. He stepped up close behind Spy; not quite pinning the man to his dresser, not even touching him, but if Spy wanted to do anything other than slide uncomfortably off to the side, it'd be impossible to do it without bumping into him. "But I jus' wanted ta' know if I should be giving yer regards ta' th' Doc this morning… you know, brekky?"

He reached out, rubbing his knuckles along the back of Spy's neck.

"You'll be coming, won't you, Spoi?"

Spy gritted his teeth in an attempt to kill a moan. The man _had _to pick that one place, didn't he? Sniper'd found his one weak spot with only a shot in the dark.

"Y-You already _know _I'm not one for breakfast, bushman." He growled. "Eating this early in the morning is repulsive." He's _not _going to stuff himself like an idiot again. The Engineer's breakfast size could qualify for two full meals- after all, that was the meal that normally had to keep them energized during the day. "Kind of like idiot Australians who can't mind their damn business."

Sniper's thumb digs into the back of his neck with a fierce pressure, right where it meets his skull, as he hand clamps down on the back of Spy's neck.

"Don't eat, then," he growled with… annoyance? Frustration? It was hard to pin down the exact emotion in such a dark, rolling sound. "I'll let th' Doc know yer feelin' so outta sorts, y'couldn't even make it up fer a cuppa. I'm sure he'll be happy ta' help y'out, mate."

Spy has to back out of this conversation before the Sniper catches on to how good he's making the Frenchman feel. If that wasn't enough, if doesn't agree to breakfast at this very moment, the Sniper would likely drag him to the medi-bay whether he consents or not.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He adjusted the knob on his invisi-watch. Before the man had any time to react to his sudden disappearance, he drove his elbow as hard as he could into the Australian's ribs. Spy was hoping the grip on his neck would slacken just enough for him to break free and slip out of the room.

"Bloody wanker!" Sniper howled and grunted with surprise, doubling over at the impact. The pain made him let go, a gesture he immediately regretted; he made a blind grab for the other man, but his hands met only air. "Y'think hidin' loike a coward's gonna do ya much good, y'got another thin' comin', Spoi! I'll find ya, you know I will, an' when I do, I'll lead th' medicine man straight ta' your sorry hide!"

Spy bolted through the still-open door, not even hazarding a glance back. It didn't matter that his footsteps were easily loud enough for the Sniper to follow; the point was to put as much distance between him and the bushman as possible. _Then _he could go about being as sneaky and silent as he wanted.

First question: Where would he _go? _Off base, that was for sure, but he would have to return sometime or another. There was going to be another battle eventually, and he would have to return that very day to feed Hidden.

He turned a corner sharply, just barely avoiding running headlong into the Engineer, and figured he'd lurk in the one place the Sniper wouldn't think to check: the mess hall. He couldn't stay here too long, though; the cloak would drain soon enough and it was too close to the base for comfort. The desert was his primary goal, but the Sniper would definitely be checking the exits to make sure Spy didn't simply bolt out and hide in the plentiful nooks and crannies the rocky, sandy landscape had to offer.

Grumbling all measures of obscenities, Sniper collected himself and ran after the sound of Spy's footsteps. He wasn't quite as lucky, however; with a grunt of pain, he ran headlong into their Engineer.

"Th' hell's the matter with you, son?" Engineer groaned as he collected the blueprints he had dropped. "Boltin' around like you've got a pack of dogs after ya… if yer itchin' that badly fer a new match, I hear Solly's out round back somewhere, practicin' his hand-ta-hand work."

"I look loike I'm in th' mood ta' play patty-cake with that loon?"

"You look like you're three words away from wrappin' yer hands around a fella's neck," Engineer replied calmly.

"Oh, I've got three words for ya: Where's. The. Spoi?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen him yet. I take it he hasn't shown up since last night?"

"Oh, he's shown up… an' then dis-a-bloody-rootin'-peared again! When I find him, I'm gonna— "

"You sure he hasn't jus' gone off ta' spy on the REDs? You know… done his _job?"_

"Piss on that." Sniper growled and pushed past.

"…well, good luck," Engineer called after him, adding under his breath, "And God's speed ta' the spook; he'll need it."

Spy swallowed anxiously. The Sniper's and Engineer's exchange had not fallen on deaf ears; the two were only a couple dozen feet away. More concerning than the distance was the Sniper's _voice. _The man sounded angry enough to try dissect him _without _the Medic's help.

He felt a squirm of anxiety in his stomach as the footsteps drew closer.

He knew shouldn't have attempted an escape, especially not one that involved physical harm. Hurting the man had just added insult to injury; and neither Sniper was pleasant when enraged.

He was playing a dangerous, possibly deadly, game of Hide-And-Seek; except he had the advantage. He was still invisible, after all.

Spy couldn't hide forever.

Sure, he had his fancy watch and all the perks that went with it, but being invisible didn't mean you could walk on an inch of this earth without leaving a trace. Chasing the man outside would have made for easier tracking, but that didn't mean he couldn't track him indoors. He wasn't like his counterpart; he may have grown up in the bush, but he lived his adult life in a more urban sort of wilderness. If he could track a target through a crowded city, he could manage a Spy in a base that housed only nine.

He would find him and he would make him very sorry for his little trick.

Very, very sorry.

Sniper was getting too close. It was time to get out of the room before the other caught on. Very slowly and very carefully he began to head for the other exit in the room- thank _God _the door was half-open- while stepping heel-first to stay virtually silent.

Unpleasant images of seeing the Medic root around in his opened chest cavity came to mind. The equally unpleasant truth was he couldn't afford to make a mistake or that wouldn't be just his imagination anymore. He slipped sideways through the crack in the door, not making a sound as he went.

Perhaps he could seek shelter somewhere? The Engineer might harbor him, at least for a little while. And the Sniper was less likely to attack and murder him if he was found in the Texan's room.

Yes; forget the desert, that's where he would go.

The Engineer was bent over a project, staring intently down into the contraptions wiring, but not so completely engrossed in it that he didn't notice when he had company.

"If you think I'll be able to shield you from him, then you must be graspin' at straws already," he said in lieu of a greeting. "Pull up a bit of bench an' tell me what's goin' on between the two of you, partner."

"If he comes, I don't expect you to do anything." He responded, sitting down and flicking his gaze towards the door. He didn't dare drop his cloak in case the Sniper came charging in. "I'll either continue to elude him or he'll drag me out of here kicking and screaming."

He gave a derisive snort. "As for what's going on between the two of us? Simply put, he's done more hounding and sticking his nose where it doesn't belong than a dog. He's been poking around so much he's acting more like a Spy than I am."

"I don't blame him for being nosy… you haven't exactly held up yer end of th' job," the Engineer pointed out. He then pointed to his tool box and held out his hand expectantly. "Wrench. It's not like anyone hasn't noticed th' fact that you've been downhill ever since you came back. No, not that one, the smaller one. But since you won't let anyone help you either— no, the _smaller_ one. Since you won't let anyone help you an' you aren't taking care of yourself, of course we're gonna be upset and worried."

He sighed and reached over, picking out the apparently "right" wrench himself before turning back to his work.

"No, I meant what has happened between last night and this morning. Th' man's livid, buddy. You steal all his empty jars or somethin'?"

"Ah. No. He and I had a brief confrontation when he discovered that I had not been in the base for the duration of last night. When I refused to tell him where I had gone off to, I found myself in an undesirable position that gave him a distinct advantage over me. In order to get him to _leave me alone,_ I briefly incapacitated him and fled." He drummed his fingers against his knee. "Here's hoping he cools off a little before he finds me."

Engineer glanced over at him and tugged his goggles down away from his face so they hung around his neck. He studied the air around him, eyes looking for his invisible teammate with a weary look that told the Spy just how many questions he was holding back.

"Son, if you want to keep him from doin' certain things, I'd suggest takin' th' steps to take better care of yourself," he suggested quietly.

"I've been _trying." _Spy said impatiently. "I've been self-destructive lately, I know it. I'm _aware _of how… Far gone I've become, and I'm taking steps to remedy myself. Sniper shoving his nose in where it doesn't belong isn't helping." He let out a sharp exhale. "To some extension, it's because he cares. But _this _is something I'm best left alone to."

"Considering how much time th' two of you were spendin' before you left fer yer trip, I'm sure it's _more_ than jus' 'some' of care… but, Spy, whatever happened, if it's killin' you on the inside like this, you should talk to someone," Engineer insisted. "If not him, then _someone. _Son, you— "

The door nudged open and the Demoman stuck his head in.

"Jus' gut w'ard— d'ere's gonna beh ah match!" he slurred with delight.

"Git outta here before the forge sets somethin' off," Engineer shooed him away quickly, sticking his head out the door to call after the excited Scot. "Go on!"

"Did he say what I think he said?" Spy stood up abruptly as soon as the Demo was gone, staring after him.

He respected the Engineer very much; he was quite possibly the most brilliant man on the team, he was most certainly the kindest, and he cooked better than anyone else in the States. But Spy was going to back out of this conversation. He didn't need the Texan's advice; he was working on his issues just fine.

He crept out into the hallway; with or without the Engineer's consent, he wasn't looking forward to staying here and resuming the topic. Back to his main goal: the desert.

Just his luck. Half-way to the nearest exit the watch's invisibility-granting flickered and died, leaving him exposed.

"Huddah!"

Pyro had spotted him first. Excited for the news, they were already in full gear, lollichop swinging happily from their hand as they quickly made their way over to him.

"Murr hurr mphuphurrur, hurr mph phrr," they chattered away delightedly to the Heavy, who was right behind them.

"Good eye," Heavy rumbled in approval, running a hand over his bandolier as he adjusted it across his broad chest. "Leetle Spy, have you heard news? REDs have new intel - now is time to take it and take down baby REDs!"

"Yes, I heard. The drunk told both the Engineer and myself." Spy said with the little enthusiasm he could muster. As much as he wanted to get _out _of here, he's skipped out and failed during too many matches to be able to claim sickness. "I was heading for my room- in my haste this morning, I left without my supplies."

The words sailed over Pyro's head, but Heavy narrowed his eyes in the gesture of an unspoken question. All he said was:

_"Da._ Will see you soon, then."

He led Pyro onwards without another word, both heading towards where the rest of them would gather before the fight.

Spy gave a quiet huff and wearily trudged back to his room, silently wondering if he was suited for combat. Sure, he wouldn't be able to stab as hard as he normally would, and he would become exhausted faster, but this morning had already given him a taste of his abilities. He could still fight, run, and hide- and he'd managed to avoid the Sniper for a good while.

He entered his room and slammed the door shut, dropping immediately to his knees and checking under the bed. Golden eyes gazed back and Spy gave a soft breath of relief, getting to his feet once again and hunting around for the meat the bushman had given him. He set down a considerable portion for the cat, sliding it underneath the bed in case his own bushman decided to go poking around here again, and gathered up his gear.

He headed after the Heavy and Pyro once his lights were off and his door was shut, assuming they were heading to the BLU team's regular gathering place.

The room was full, the other eight mercenaries jostling in place, eager to receive instructions. No one seemed to know what was expected of them, only that they were about to fight a fight that would catch the REDs unaware.

From the other side of the room, Sniper glared silent death threats at Spy, but as he opened his mouth, the final countdown began. Apparently this mission wasn't just unscheduled - it was time sensitive too.

"Zhere are no instructions?" Medic looked to the Engineer, baffled and concerned. It was unheard of, to go into a battle that had no briefing.

Spy cocked an eyebrow. None? No instructions at all? Even if it was as simple as 'retrieve the briefcase' or 'push a cart to a certain point' there were always instructions.

Maybe they were foolish to go rushing in right away. How had the Demo come by this news, anyway? It seemed like something one would entrust to the Engineer, or even the Spy. Someone who was reliable enough to convey the message. The more he thought about it, the more it looked like some variety of trap.

The only reason he didn't voice his concerns was because it would only worsen their opinions of him. In their eyes, he was a starving, sleepless sneak. He didn't want to become a starving, sleepless, _paranoid _sneak.

Very well. If they were going without instructions, they'd do their best based on assumptions and assumptions only.

"This doesn't seem right— " Engineer agreed, but was quickly interrupted by the Soldier.

"Who needs a briefing? We go in, we grab the briefcase, and we blow them all to Commie hell!" The American's enthusiastic words were met with agreeable noise from both the Demoman and the Heavy. Even the Scout seemed ready to leap into the fight blind, already up on his toes as he shifted from one foot to the other.

"As good of a plan as any, I suppose," Medic finally sighed, relenting under the rallying cheer.

The timer ticked down, calling out the last ten seconds, and Sniper's hand was suddenly clamped down on the back of Spy's neck.

"If y'think this changes anything, Spoi, yer in fer a big surprise," he growled into the other man's ear. "So you better fight loike I'm hot on yer tail, because if y'don't…"

His hand tightened for a moment, releasing at the sound of the buzzer.

He was still angry, then. Spy'd expected as much. The man once held a grudge against a rat who'd taken a chunk out of his bow and had killed it a month after he'd already taken the time to make a new one. The Sniper was not one to let go of an insult or attack easily.

Spy was the last one out. He'd be surveying the field, getting a good feel of what this fight was going to be like _before _actually going to attack. This entire scenario had the word 'trap' written on it in big, red capital letters.

He flitted out onto the battleground, keeping slow and invisible. His head swiveled around, watching the area like a hawk. Something was making him jumpy, and he'd long since learned to trust his instincts. As soon has he got even the faintest inkling that something was wrong he was going to warn the others.

The others poured out across the desert field, seeking out the REDs. The ambush tactic worked to some degree; they managed to get the jump on the other team, but not soon enough to grab up the briefcase before it was spirited away to the safety inside the base, despite Scout's eager chase. He was rewarded by the RED Sniper, who took him out with a well-aimed swing of his kukri before hiking out towards one of his nestboxes.

Fanning out, the two teams clashed head-to-head, turning the field into a loud and dusty ruckus. It was hard to tell who was winning - there were no announcements over individual victories or defeats.

In fact, it almost seemed like brawl, rather than a battle.

Spy _thrived _on chaos. So many exposed backs to slash and stab at- He'd squirmed through their lines and had taken down both Medic, Heavy, and Soldier before having one arm cut off in a clean stroke by the enemy Demo's sword. He didn't get the chance to scream before his head went flying through the air. Blood gushed from his limp corpse and head alike.

He went through respawn. He considered a different tactic and decided to harrass the RED Engineer, who'd attempted to desperately set up a sentry to defend their intel. Spy placed sappers over and over again, alternating between Sentry and Dispenser to make the fool dash from one side of the room to another. He backed off after a little while and let the Texan go hunting for the sneaky little Frenchman who dare attempt to break his precious toys.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit," the Engineer swore as he stomped around, slapping his wrench against the covered palm of his gunslinger. There was a scurrying sound and he swung out with the wrench, catching the BLU Scout across the face. The lad went down with a howl of pain, his legs flying out from underneath him, even as the rest of him was stopped by the impact. Without hesitating, the Engineer reached down and grabbed him by the back of his belt, hauling the kid out into the open.

Well, at least a few of the sentries were back to working order.

Now, if only he could find that rotten BLU Spy…

"Peek-a-boo." He whispered into the man's ear, dropping to the ground as he swung the wrench. He quickly scrambled to his feet and moved back, smiling to himself. His favorite part. Seeing the enemy team on edge always brought a purr of satisfaction.

He uncloaked. "Over here~" Recloaked.

He repeated the gesture, dancing all about the room and staying just out of reach. Keeping the man occupied in hopes the Medic and Heavy would come take the sentry down while it was vulnerable.

In the end, it wasn't the Engineer that tripped Spy up, it was the RED Pyro.

Literally.

As the Texan spun around, hissing and spitting furious threats, the firebug ran past, dodging around the Engineer to try and reach the battle. As they turned to give a wave, they ran right into the invisible spy, the thick rubber boots tangling with his own lengthy legs as the two went down.

"There ya' go, Py! Boy, you are gonna wish you were never— "

Whatever the Engineer's threats were going to be died with him as the ubered Heavy filled the room, his minigun roaring as he mowed both REDs down.

The Spy got up shakily, chest heaving. It had to be a _Pyro, _didn't it? Filthy, disgusting freak. He would've preferred fighting an enraged Heavy or squirming on top of the Medic's operating table. Those cursed little arsonists could burn in hell for all he cared.

"T-Thank you." He said briefly, trying not to let it show just how rattled the encounter had made him.

With the uber run down, Heavy charged ahead anyways, scoping for any on-coming REDs.

"How goes zhe defense vork?" Medic asked, glancing back at the ruined sentries._"Herr_ Spy… does zhis not seem odd to you? Like something is… off? Zhe REDs are fighting as if zhey have been caught unawares, not off-guard. Zhey voud surely have expected _some'zhing…_ it feels…"

His thoughts were interrupted by the Heavy's bellowed call, summoning him forward.

He's right. Something about this entire situation is wrong. Something isn't right here, something isn't as it seems. It's got him feeling very uneasy as he sets off for their intel. As soon as he finds Scout he's going to dump the briefcase on him and tell him to get moving.

He swiped the intel from where it lay. He'd captured their intelligence plenty of times before- not as much as Scout, but more than someone like Soldier or Demo.

But even as he picks up the briefcase, there is no announcement; no warnings, no alarms, nothing that indicates that the BLUs have turned the tide of the battle in their favor.

In fact, the briefcase felt rather light in Spy's grip.

A trap? A decoy? Something's wrong.

What the _hell _is going on? He set the intelligence back down on the desk where he found it, frowning down at it suspiciously.

Curiosity gets the best of him. He popped open both of the latches and cracked the briefcase open, defying the Adminstrator's clear orders. Breaking this rule could get him killed… Or worse.

Two of the Heavy's sandwiches sat in the empty briefcase.

An arm wrapped around Spy's neck and the individual connected to it suddenly dragged him backwards, off into one of the hallways.

"Wot th' bloody hell are you playin' at, spook?!" Sniper hissed, hauling the other man around in a headlock as he moved as quickly as he could without tripping the Spy. "You and yer rotten team! This was supposed to be a day off…"

Spy struggled and squirmed, shouting out a warning in case the Medic and Heavy were nearby. "Docteur! Heavy!" He cried as best as the arm around his neck would allow. "_It's a trick! It's a trap!_"

He had _no idea _what was going on. Not even the faintest. Except he was stuck in the bushman's arms and his team had been duped. His brain was reeling and whirling as he struggled to comprehend what exactly was going on.

"Shut yer mouth, you bloody idiot!" Sniper slapped his hand over Spy's mouth and moved faster, dragging Spy along now. "Th' hell you callin' out for, Bluey?! I coulda shot yer raggy arse, but I didn't… so why th' hell y'bringin' down yer Heavy on me?!"

He found somewhere out of the way and threw Spy down ahead of him, tossing him to the floor as he checked to see if anyone was following.

Spy had resisted the temptation to bite the man as he was dragged, despite the anger and confusion filling his mind. He had to stay at least slightly civil, no matter what desperate ploy the RED team was attempting.

He grunted upon impact with the ground. "What kind of trick is your team pulling, Sniper?" He snarled, attempting to rise again and possibly fight the bushman.

"Us? We weren't the ones who attacked, mate," Sniper spat back. It didn't seem like anyone had heard Spy's pleas for help…

He turned to glare down at the other man and gave him a kick as he tried to get up, toppling him back over onto his knees. "Bloody lucky for us that Scout sounded th' alarm an' put out a broadcast with that stupid headset of his. Never thought I'd appreciate that toy… Spy, wot was yer team thinkin'? Attackin' on an off day?! It'll be all of our heads on th' block fer this an' I am not gonna take a docked bit of pay jus' because of you BLUs!"

"_We _were given instructions to capture your intelligence," Spy growled back, "We were doing our _job._" He stubbornly persisted in his attempt to get up, refusing to allow the Sniper a position over him. He's not weak, and he will _not _be forced to his knees by an idiot Australian just because he was playing dumb. "Don't act like a fool, _jarman_. You've switched out your new intelligence for a _decoy." _

Sniper braced both hands on Spy's shoulders, pushing him down firmly into place.

"We. Don't. _Have._ Any. New. Intel," he growled, nose-to-nose with the other man. "I don't know what you idiots think an', ta' be honest, I don't care; we don't have anything fer you lot ta' steal! How can I get that through yer big— "

There was a crack and a mist of blood as Sniper went down, toppling over to collapse beside Spy. His crumpled body stared sightless at the window and, across the field, the BLU Sniper stared back through his scope.

Spy gave his teammate a shaky thumbs-up and rose, pausing to kick the enemy Sniper's corpse aside. He had to deliver this news, and the briefcase as well, back to his team.

He retrieved the intel and went sprinting back to his team through an alternative route. The first semi-intelligent teammates he ran into were the Medic and Heavy. He grabbed at the doctor's shoulder, stopping to pant for breath.

"Docteur," He panted out. "It's a trick. A trap. It's a lie. The new intelligence is fake."

"_Vhat ist_…" Medic's words trailed off as he glanced down at briefcase in Spy's hand. "Heavy, come! _Kommen Sie! Zurückgreifen_!"

They aided Spy in an attempt to make it back over to the BLU base, Heavy grabbing their Scout in mid-stride, collecting him on the way in. By the time they made it, nearly everyone else was back and they had figured it out.

"Anyone else wanna tell me what the hell that was all about?" Engineer was demanding, livid at the turn of events.

"Ve had instructions— "

"Did we? No briefing, no commentary, no announcements… it's startin' to sound like the whole thing didn't come from up high."

"Den who?" Heavy wondered and Medic looked over thoughtfully.

"Vell, zhe Soldier called us to battle…"

"The Demo passed the word around… too…" Engineer pointed out.

Everyone looked around.

_"…herr_ Engineer, vhere are zhey at zhe moment?" Medic asked in a calm, icy voice.

"I dunno, but when I find out…" Engineer grumbled, following with him to lead the search.

The Spy was furious. Those two idiots had essentially forced them into combat, and the punishment for this was docked pay, if not being outright fired! If no one else was going to punish them for their stupidity Spy would gladly take the job.

Of course, despite the anger clouding his judgment, he wasn't a complete idiot. There were other options beside the two fools goofing around. There was always the possibility the RED Spy had something to do with it. Perhaps he posed as one or even both of the two to stir up trouble, intentionally getting BLU into a confused, jumbled mess of a team.

Someone grabbed the back of Spy's jacket by the collar and hauled him backwards, wrapping an arm around his throat and a hand around his mouth to keep him hidden in place while the rest of the aggravated team marched on without him.

"When I said wot I said this mornin', it wasn't a suggestion."

The BLU Sniper's voice was a low, chesty rumble in his ear, so deep he could feel it, and it carried his amused smirk far too well.

"But good fer you, finally findin' a way ta' help yer teammates when yer too weak ta' even pick up yer bloody dink of a knife."

Spy struggled against the Australian's grip, snarling furiously into the man's palm. He attempted a blow with his elbow again, but the bushman had apparently learned that move already and avoided it like he'd known it was coming.

"Hhhhh hhhfff!" He spat, clawing at the arm around his neck.

"Oh, settle down now, mate, or this is gonna go a lot worse fer ya than it already is," Sniper chuckled as he half-dragged Spy down the empty base corridor. "Imagine my surprise as I'm tryin' ta' line up m'shot… an' wot do I see, but a bit of friendly color 'tween th' knobby bastard's hands. Y'know, y'do a nice job of distractin' a man, mate… I was able ta' git a nice, clean shot. Good ta' see y'finally pullin' yer weight, as it were."

"Hhhd hhh!" Spy snarled in response, not ceasing or even slowing his struggles. Damn it, this was _bad. _The Sniper was dragging him away at a very, very crucial moment, and he could do with skipping whatever the man had planned. Nothing pleasant, that was for sure. "Hddd hhh hhhhll hhoo hooo hnnn hhhrr hhhnnn?!" He was leaving angry red marks on the forearm wrapped around his neck- even through the gloves, his nails were sharp enough to do some damage. This brought a sliver of satisfaction.

His clawing brought the arm tighter around Spy's throat and Sniper flexed, the muscle pushing hard against the man's trachea.

"I _said_ settle down, kitten," Sniper's growl darkened with annoyance at the stinging pain. "Or I'll trim those claws of yers with m'kukri."

He kicked a door open and dragged Spy through it.

"Now, you an' me, we had a chat this mornin', didn't we. Do you 'member wot I said, Spoi? You 'member wot I told you?"

Spy sputtered something out, voice muffled by both the arm restricting his air and the hand clamped over his mouth. He finally admitted defeat and ceased in his struggling, allowing his arms to fall limp to his sides, his desperate jerks and squirms finally coming to a stop.

"Thatta boy."

Sniper's voice couldn't seem to reach a purr, but it rumbled contently and his arm loosened up enough to let Spy breathe again.

"Now, if I 'member roight, you refused brekky; wouldn't even take a cup of coffee. Pretty sure y'hurt Engie's feelings there, mate. Shame ta' do somethin' loike that… good man, th' Engineer. Too good ta' say anne'thin'."

His arm was gone and, for a brief moment, Spy was free.

Then his hand clamped down around the man's throat, grabbing him firmly, firmly enough to throw him down on his back across the mess hall's table.

"I'm not."

Sniper grinned over Spy, his smile full of teeth.

"I'll say wot'ever I please, won't I."

The Sniper's straying a little close to psychotic at this point, going far beyond just a little bit of light jabs and teasing. He distantly reminds Spy of the Medic when the doctor's excited; except Sniper's a little less enthusiastic. He seems a little more… Detached than the doctor.

His instincts screamed at him to wriggle and squirm, struggle and fight. He knows what that satisfied, savage smirk means and it's nothing good.

"The Engineer isn't- so-" He's having to struggle to talk with the fingers tight around his neck. "Petty… That he'd be offended by a simple… Rejection of his food."

"Petty?" Sniper echoed back, almost sounding hurt by the choice of words. "M'not th' petty sort, mate… in fact, I'm a man of m'word. I said I wouldn't say 'boo' ta' th' nurse if y'pulled yer weight in th' next match, didn't I? Y'don't see 'em here, now, do ya?"

His hand slides lower, fingers catching around Spy's tie, but it's to pull it loose, rather than tight around his throat. With a chuckle, Sniper slid the fabric free and wrapped it between his hands.

"…I'd certainly say y'_pulled_ more than yer own _weight_ t'day…"

Spy's infuriated and terrified at the same time. Infuriated that the Sniper's drawn him away from the hunt after the Soldier and Demo, and terrified at just what he'd _do. _If he'd known Sniper would act like this, he would've kept himself cloaked and hidden until the man calmed down.

His palms pressed against the table, pushing against the surface experimentally while the rest of him gave a small, involuntary shudder. He doesn't want Sniper anywhere _near _his throat, or anywhere near _him, _for that matter. He'd rather take his chances with the RED Medic- at the very least he had a reasonable idea of the man's limits and sanity (or lack thereof). With his own Sniper, it's a dice toss whether he's going to get out of this without losing fingers or teeth.

"I am your _teammate." _He's a little relieved by how his voice doesn't tremble even a fraction. "What the _hell _have I done to you to deserve this variety of treatment?"

The question makes Sniper pause and he looked back at the other man as if the answer was too obvious for this to be anything more than a stalling tactic.

"I'm concerned fer ya, Spoi," he replied, unwinding the tie from around his hands. "Y'don't eat, y'don't sleep… y'disa-bloody-rootin'-pear overnight, night afta' night… ever since y'came back, you've been useless. Why is that, Spoi? Wot's goin' on with you that makes y'so bloody useless? Where's th' man that made m'job as easy as watchin' a bloody picture show through th' scope?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge secrets like that." He snarled, a hot spike of anger fueling his voice. He's not as strong as Sniper, nowhere near, but he's _not _going to take this lying down. He propped himself up on his elbows and swung himself forward to sit up. "There are some things you take to the grave, bushman." His voice was acidic- each word was spat out like poison.

Wrong thing to say.

"Y'always know jus' th' things ta' say ta' me, don't ya, Spoi," Sniper's lips pulled back as he grinned, shifting forward to lean into the other man. His pudgy gut presses against Spy's knees, pinning them over the edge of the table. "Jus' th' sort of things that always make me wanna know."

His hands brushed against the back of Spy's gloves as he slid his them over the table.

"Where'd you go?" Sniper's words rumbled deep in his ribcage, low and rich, amused at the challenge. "Where'd y'leave yer'self, Spoi?"

"Somewhere in Hell," He spat back violently. "I had to reserve a spot to make sure I didn't wind up near _you." _He started struggling again. Attempting to fiercely jerk his limbs free, kicking and bucking frantically as he fought to get the other man off.

He's not going to say anything about Hidden, France, or the enemy Sniper. This man is not going to respect any kind of boundary Spy's setting. As soon as he gives an inch the Sniper's going to take a mile, and then start looking for even more to take.

"Loike that'd be such a bad thing."

Sniper pushed hard, shoving Spy down on his back again. It isn't that hard; the man could easily be tuckered from the impromptu match to properly fight back or maybe he was resigned to whatever would come his way, but in the end, Sniper's not too sure, and he isn't all that concerned. The other man's upper arms are wrapped with ropy muscle, still thin as ever, but he can feel the work that they've built up when he pins them to the table surface.

Sniper leans over him, using his height and weight to his advantage, and noses his words against the side of Spy's mask.

"Did he say somethin' as he died?" he asked, chuckling as he added: "I mean, did he make a sound or did y'already pull all th' sounds outta him?"

"What the _hell _is that supposed to mean?" He snarled out, not pausing or halting his desperate struggling for a split second. He knew it was a fruitless effort that would only serve to exhaust him, but he has to show _some _defiance. For God's sake, this man is _on his team._

He redoubled his efforts, grunting as he writhed beneath the Sniper. The bushman had the advantage, by all means, and from his lack of care Spy's starting to think that physically resisting might just be completely ineffectual.

"Get _off!" _He barked in frustration.

Chuckling endearingly at the other man's fury, Sniper laid his head down on the table beside Spy's, his lips practically caressing his ear with every word.

"I mean— "

He rolled his hips down against the pinned man's, leaning his full weight on top of him.

"—were you still blowing his cock—"

A hand let go of one arm, only to reach inside Spy's jacket, digging around without any regard for the man already inside the suit.

"—when I blew his head off?"

Sniper's hand closed around Spy's balisong and he chuckled as he pulled it out. His fingers certainly weren't as clever as the Frenchman's, but even he could manage to flick the blade open with one hand, and he did, the steel flashing in the light as he brought its tip down.

"Oi, don't be so scared, Spoi," he taunted, stopping just short of impaling the man with his own weapon. Sniper lightly ran the blade over Spy's throat; it could have almost been mistaken for a caress, if it wasn't so threatening and the man didn't seem quite as disconnected. "I won't tell the boy anything. Not that it'd make much of a difference, really… he's already got you pegged fer the sort of man you are, hey?"

"Your opinions of me are irrelevant." Spy hissed back. His struggling had died the second his own balisong touched his throat. "Contrary to what you no doubt believe, _bushman,_I wouldn't drop everything in my haste to give a man head."

He was pinned. Trapped. He didn't think he could struggle out of this one; he was at the mercy of this man. He would've much, _much _rather had the enemy Sniper own pinning him down, holding a knife to his throat. At least _that _would've guaranteed his death wouldn't be drawn-out.

"I _saw_ you on yer _knees_ in front of _him,"_ Sniper growled. He pulled the tip of the knife away as he spoke, but drove his elbow down hard against the man's chest with every stressed enunciation, and then laughed as Spy gasped for air. "Piss, mate, I don't really mind all that much… jus' wish y'had given me a heads up that was yer plan ta' help distract th' REDs; I would have loiked ta' see th' whole show."

He took a long, slow breath, his cheek rubbing against Spy's, as if he was scenting something. Whatever it was made him lick his lips.

"Don't piss yerself, mate… I ain't gonna tell th' others. I wouldn't wanna hurt ya reputation _that_ bad," Sniper chuckled again. He suddenly ducked his head, dragging the flat of his tongue slowly along the edge of Spy's mask, licking the sweat from his cheek. "Fuck if yer fear don't just taste th' best, though…"

What the _hell_was wrong with him? The Spy knew his team had a reputation for being morons and psychopaths, but he'd always been a firm believer that the Sniper didn't fit into the latter category. Now, well… Spy wasn't sure if he was_acting_like he belonged in an insane asylum or if he really _did _belong there. Either way…

He needed to get this whole thing straightened out. He would loathe to hear taunts about this whenever he passed by the man.

"What kind of person do you take me for?" He spat back. "I would not stoop to behaving so stupidly during combat! Sex is an off-duty activity, and _not_one I would partake in with an _enemy!" _

The tip of the balisong bit into Spy's shoulder - slicing through the suit and just barely grazing him - as Sniper slammed it into the table.

"Lie ta' th' others, lie ta' yer'self if y'gotta, but don't lie ta' me," he roared at Spy. His voice softened, nearly whispering the words as he repeated himself. "Don't lie ta' me, Spoi."

His hand slid down Spy's arm, holding it down as he reached for the other man's hand; fingers played over the edge of his glove.

"Y'can have all th' secrets in th' world, but don't lie ta' m'face. If y'weren't blowin' th' man, then there had better be a hell of a reason why you were on yer knees, starin' at his trousers, rather than stabbin' his back."

"We were both confused." Spy tried to ignore the pleading that's creeping into his voice. "He wanted to know _why _we were attacking today and _I _wanted to know why their supposed 'new intelligence' was fake. We needed each other alive to get these answers. The only reason the position wasn't reversed was he struck first and caught me off guard."

Spy curled both his hands into fists. "I was too weak to fend him off, just as you all say. As soon as he got his answers he was going to kill me and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

_Just like you, _he thought to himself.

Spy's words seemed to have struck a cord in Sniper; his body relaxed over him, the snappish anger draining away to a simple, warm weight, and his hand covered Spy's fist, fingers wrapping lightly over the other man's curled digits.

"That's why I want ta' help ya, Spoi," he rumbled into the cloth-covered ear, nosing the words almost sweetly. "S'why y'gotta start eatin' an' sleepin' again… y'were trainin' ace with m'bow, but y'gotta do more than that, mate. Y'can be whole again if y'jus' lemme help ya."

Sniper inhaled the trapped man's scent again, exhaling a soft breath of delight. It really was too bad about his teammate… almost a crime, really…

"If y'weren't so weak, mebbe y'wouldn't have ta' blow a man ta' keep him from killin' ya…"

His hand released the balisong, leaving it embedded in the table, and reached for Spy's throat instead.

"…but you'd rather let him toss yer 'round than let a teammate help. Now, why is that, Spoi? Why'd y'rather stay weak enough ta' let him put y'on yer knees than do yer'self - an' yer team - roight? That's not loike th' Spoi I know. Makes me wonder, mate…"

"Makes you wonder _what?"_Spy snarled in reply, starting up another attempt at breaking free. Spy's afraid. Very, very afraid. The Sniper's so _close_to him the man could practically hear his thundering, racing heartbeat, or feel his Adam's apple dip with every short, shallow swallow. How did the Sniper plan on 'helping' him, exactly? Nothing too pleasant, that was for sure. If he allows the Sniper to 'help' him…

He's not scared of many things. Pyros, Hidden dying, and the Administrator finding out about his pet. That's the complete, full list. But he's certain he's going to be adding to that list by the time this man is done with him.

He lifted Spy by the throat and slammed his head back down against the table, hard.

"Makes me wonder why th' bloody hell you're doin' this!" Sniper's voice dipped into a darker, rougher growl. His hand shifted, wrapping tight beneath his chin, and he slammed Spy's head down over and over again. "Listen ta' me when I talk ta' you, Spoi! Strewth, are y'so far gone that y'can't even manage that much?!"

Spy's struggles and protests have tapered off. He could hardly speak a reply, and even if he tried, he would probably bite off his tongue in the process. He dully remembered a scenario like this, where the two roles were reversed. The Sniper had been the one reeling beneath an enraged man.

It seemed a little like justice to Spy.

There was a blinding pain in his skull, enough to make his vision blur and flicker on every hit. He's distantly aware of both the Sniper's talking and strangled cries of pain, but the horrible agony is so strong and sharp in the back of his head he can't concentrate long enough to understand what the man's talking about.

When Sniper stops, he's breathing heavily over Spy. He didn't move for a moment, just hovered and watched. Slowly, his grip crawled up Spy's jaw, turning his head to the side. He held him there as his other hand finally let go of Spy's fist, and crept up the back of his neck, slipping underneath the mask.

Fingers probed, combing through sweaty hair, seeking out the worst of the pain. They pushed and prodded, the back of the mask bulging from his knuckles as his fingers curled, and, finally, withdrew.

"…stop fakin', y'bloody pansy," he growled after a moment, licking the sweat from his finger. "Y'ain't bleeding."

"That… Doesn't… Mean… It doesn't… Hurt…" Spy wheezed back. _«__It hurts a lot, you son of a bitch…__»_ He gave a soft little whine and lay back, quietly panting.

He carefully turned his head to take the pressure off his battered skull and skin. "How dare you do this to a teammate!" He spat out. _« Let me up, dammit!__»_

Sniper's hips roll down against Spy's, a singular, almost reflexive gesture at the soft whine that escaped Spy's lips. He didn't make a comment, but his toothy grin says all that needs to be said.

"I wouldn't have ta', if anne'thin' could reach ya' through yer big head," he rumbled, his voice cold and smooth, the sort of tone that can reach inside a man and freeze him to his core. "But yer makin' me do this, Spoi. Yer makin' me hafta take new measures, all because y'won't take care of yer'self. Makes me wonder if you've been jus' waitin' fer me ta' come along loike this… s'only thing that makes sense anne'more. Unless y'can give me a good reason why y'haven't been eatin' or sleepin' since y'got back?"

He stared down at the other man, waiting expectantly, giving Spy a chance.

The silence hung that between them made it clear it was his only chance.

"Go to hell." Spy snarled back. "I'm in the service of someone far more important than _you_ or _me_." A scowl replaced the dazed, pained look. "I'm not planning on ratting _anyone _out today, least of all him."

He glared back up at the Sniper in disgust. "And if you think _this_is helping me you're just as mentally deficient as that mush-mouthed mutant we call a teammate."

Sniper pulled back, his toothy grin more predatory than ever.

"Him?"

Both hands wrapped around Spy's throat, but it was a caressing touch rather than a squeeze. They slowly slid down his chest and over his stomach, smoothing out the rumbled jacket.

"Him."

His hands suddenly grabbed the front of his suit by the fistful, pulling him down sharply, hip-to-hip. The fabric pinned by the stuck balisong ripped, tearing a hole in the shoulder.

"So there is a 'him', then, is there?" Sniper rumbled, bending his head down low, teeth nearly grazing Spy's cheek as he spoke. "Well, does _he_ care enough ta' try an' feed ya? Does _he_ make ya' have a lie-in, with hopes that you'll finally get some sleep? Because that's m'plan fer you, Spoi. Whether y'loike it or not, that's what you'll be doin' t'day. You'll get yer help, one way or another; I'll be damn sure of that. One way or another."

"Get _off _of me!" Spy snarled back. "At least _he _never went completely insane and _bashed my head _against a table!" He didn't dare squirm or wriggle; he'd had one Sniper's teeth in his cheek already and that was enough for a lifetime. "If this is how you plan on '_helping'_me, I don't _want _your help! I daresay that I don't _need _your help!"

He was afraid again- a slow, creeping fear that made his hair stand on end. The Sniper's growl was severe enough to make him believe he'd follow up on whatever he said. And when he did… Well, there was all kinds of pain to imagine if he didn't comply with the man's wishes.

Sniper's fist struck hard enough to snap Spy's head to the side, his cheek smarting from the impact. There would undoubtedly be a bruise there later on, one the mask might not entirely cover.

"I. Am. _NOT._ Insane," He roared at the other man, grabbing him by the front of his suit to haul him to his feet. A second blow cut Spy down once more, sending him to the floor. "I am a professional - ace at m'job. I wouldn't have ta' hit ya' if you didn't force m'hand, mate."

He planted a boot between Spy's shoulder blades, holding him down as he grabbed for the other man's arms, twisting them forcefully behind his back. The near-forgotten tie was wrapped around them tight, knotted at the elbows and the wrists, keeping his arms bent painfully back.

Letting up, Sniper grabbed Spy by the back of the neck as if he was scruffing an animal and hauled him to his feet.

"It's yer fault I have ta' take these sorts of measures," he reminded him with a disappointed shake of his head as he dragged him towards the kitchen. "If y'only took care of yer'self…"


End file.
